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LIBRARY 

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EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 


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MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Limited 

NEW  YORK  :   THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1906 

All  rights  reserved 


First  Edition  1883 
Rep7-inted  1889,  1902,  1906 


NOTE. 

The  most  important  and,  on  the  whole,  trustworthy  life 
of  Sheridan  is  that  of  Moore,  published  in  1825,  nine 
years  after  Sheridan's  death,  and  founded  upon  the 
fullest  information,  with  the  help  of  all  that  Sheridan 
had  left  behind  in  the  w^ay  of  papers,  and  all  that  the 
family  could  furnish — along  with  Moore's  own  personal 
recollections.  It  is  not  a  very  characteristic  piece  of  work, 
and  greatly  dissatisfied  the  friends  and  lovers  of  Sheridan ; 
but  its  authorities  are  unimpeachable.  A  previous 
Memoir  by  Dr.  Watkins,  the  work  of  a  political  opponent 
and  detractor,  was  without  either  this  kind  of  authorisa- 
tion or  any  grace  of  personal  knowledge,  and  has  fallen 
into  oblivion.  Very  different  is  the  brief  sketch  by  the 
well-known  Professor  Smyth,  a  most  valuable  and  inter- 
esting contribution  to  the  history  of  Sheridan.  It  con- 
cerns, indeed,  only  the  later  part  of  his  life,  but  it  is 
the  most  lifelike  and,  under  many  aspects,  the  most  touch- 
ing contemporary  portrait  that  has  been  made  of  him. 
With  the  professed  intention  of  making  up  for  the 
absence  of  character  in  Moore's  Life,  a  small  volume  of 
Sheridaniana  was  published  the  year  after,  which  is 
full  of  amusing  anecdotes,  but  little,  if  any,  additional 
information.  Other  essays  on  the  subject  have  been  many. 

22C859 


vi  NOTE. 

Scarcely  an  edition  of  Sheridan's  plays  has  been  published 
(and  they  are  numberless)  -u^ithout  a  biogi'aphical  notice, 
good  or  bad.  The  most  noted  of  these  is  perhaps  the  Bio- 
graphical and  Critical  Sketch  of  Leigh  Hunt,  which  does 
not,  however,  pretend  to  any  new  light,  and  is  entirely 
imsympathetic.  .Much  more  recently  a  book  of  personal 
Recollections  by  an  Octogenarian  promised  to  afford  new 
information ;  but,  except  for  the  froth  of  certain  dubious 
and  not  very  savoury  stories  of  the  Prince  Eegent  period, 
failed  to  do  so. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

His  Youth 1 


CHAPTER  II. 
Hi3  First  Dramatic  Works 45 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  "School  FOR  vScandal" 77 

CHAPTER  IT. 
Public  Life 118 

CHAPTER  Y. 
Middle  Age 152 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Decadence 177 


INDEX .         „         .     211 


EICHAED  BEINSLEY  SHERIDAN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HIS  YOUTH. 

Richard  Brinsley  Butler  Sheridan  was  born  in 
Dublin,  in  the  month  of  September  1751,  of  a  family 
which  had  already  acquired  some  little  distinction  of  a 
kind  quite  harmonious  with  the  after  fame  of  him  who 
made  its  name  so  familiar  to  the  world.  The  Sheridans 
were  of  that  Anglo-Irish  type  which  has  given  so  much 
instruction  and  amusement  to  the  world,  and  which  has 
indeed  in  its  wit  and  eccentricity  so  associated  itself  ^yith 
the  fame  of  its  adopted  country,  that  we  might  almost 
say  it  is  from  this  peculiar  variety  of  the  race  that  we 
have  all  taken  our  idea  of  the  national  character.  It 
vnh  be  a  strange  thing  to  discover,  after  so  many  years' 
identification  of  the  idiosyncrasy  as  Irish,  that  in  reality 
it  is  a  hybrid,  and  not  native  to  the  soil.  The  race  of 
brilliant,  witty,  improvident,  and  reckless  Irishmen  whom 
we  have  all  been  taught  to  admire,  excuse,  love,  and  con- 
demn— the  Goldsmiths,  the  Sheridans,  and  many  more 
that  will  occur  to  the  reader — all  belong  to  this  mingled 
blood.     Many  are  more  Irish,  according  to  our  present 

S  B 


2  ;;.  5R;CH':iRt);B«INs£B^^^  [chap 

understanding  of  the  word,  than  their  compatriots  of  a 
purer  race ;  but  perhaps  it  is  something  of  EngUsh  energy 
which  has  brought  them  to  the  front,  to  the  surface, 
with  an  indomitable  life  which  misfortune  and  the  most 
reckless  defiance  of  all  the  laws  of  living  never  seem  able  to 
quench.  Among  these  names,  and  not  among  the  O'Con- 
nors and  O'Briens,  do  we  find  all  that  is  most  characteristic, 
to  modern  ideas,  in  Irish  manners  and  modes  of  thought. 
Nothing  more  distinct  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  type  could 
be ;  and  yet  it  is  separated  from  England  in  most  cases 
only  by  an  occasional  mixtui-e  of  Celtic  blood — often  by 
the  simple  fact  of  establishment  for  a  few  generations  on 
another  soil  How  it  is  that  the  bog  and  the  mountain, 
the  softer  climate,  the  salt  breath  of  the  Atlantic,  should 
have  wrought  this  change,  is  a  mystery  of  Ethnology 
which  we  are  quite  incompetent  to  solve ;  or  whether  it 
is  mere  external  contact  with  an  influence  which  the 
native  gives  forth  without  being  himself  strongly  affected 
by  it,  we  cannot  tell.  But  the  fact  remains  that  the  most 
characteristic  Irishmen — those  through  whom  we  recog- 
nise the  race — are  as  a  matter  of  fact,  so  far  as  race  is 
concerned,  not  Irishmen  at  all.  The  same  fact  tells  in 
America,  where  a  new  type  of  character  seems  to  have 
been  ingrafted  upon  the  old  by  the  changed  conditions  of 
so  vast  a  continent  and  circumstances  so  peculiar.  Even 
this,  however,  is  not  so  remarkable  in  an  altogether  new 
society,  as  the  absorption,  by  what  was  in  reality  an  alien 
and  a  conquering  race,  of  all  that  is  most  remarkable  in 
the  national  character  which  they  dominated  and  subdued 
— ^unless  indeed  we  take  refuge  in  the  supposition,  which 
does  not  seem  untenable,  that  this  character,  which  we 
have  been  so  hasty  in  identifying  with  it,  is  not  really 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  S 

Irish  at  all ;  and  that  we  have  not  yet  fathomed  the 
natural  spirit,  overlaid  by  such  a  couche  of  superficial 
foreign  brilliancy,  of  that  more  mystic  race,  full  of  tragic 
elements,  of  visionary  faith  and  purity,  of  wild  revenge 
and  subtle  cunning,  which  is  in  reality  native  to  the  old 
island  of  the  saints.  Certainly  the  race  of  Columba  seems 
to  have  little  in  common  with  the  race  of  Sheridan. 

The  two  immediate  predecessors  of  the  great  dramatist 
are  both  highly  characteristic  figures,  and  thoroughly 
authentic,  which  is  as  much  perhaps  as  any  man  of  letters 
need  care  for.  The  first  of  these,  Dr.  Thomas  Sheridan, 
Brinsley  Sheridan's  grandfather,  was  a  clergyman  and 
schoolmaster  in  Dublin  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century — by  all  reports  an  excellent  scholar  and  able 
instructor,  but  extravagant  and  hot-headed  after  his 
kind.  He  was  the  intimate  friend  and  associate  of 
Swift  in  his  later  years,  and  lent  a  little  brightness  to 
the  great  Dean's  society  when  he  returned  disappointed 
to  his  Irish  preferment.  Lord  Orrery  describes  this 
genial  but  reckless  parson  in  terms  which  are  entirely 
harmonious  -with  the  after  development  of  the  family 
character : — 

"  He  had  that  kind  of  good  nature  which  absence  of  mind, 
indolence  of  body,  and  carelessness  of  fortune  produce  ;  and 
although  not  over-strict  in  his  own  conduct,  yet  he  took  care 
of  the  morality  of  his  scholars,  whom  he  sent  to  the  univer- 
sity remarkably  well-grounded  in  all  kinds  of  learning,  and  not 
ill-instructed  in  the  social  duties  of  life.  He  was  slovenly, 
indigent,  and  cheerful.  He  knew  books  better  than  men,  and 
he  knew  the  value  of  money  least  of  all." 

The  chief  point  in  Dr.  Sheridan's  career  is  of  a  tragi- 
comic character  which  still  further  increases  the  appro- 


4  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

priateness  of  his  appearance  at  the  head  of  his  descendants. 
By  Swift's  influence  he  was  appointed  to  a  living  in  Cork, 
in  addition  to  which  he  was  made  one  of  the  Lord- 
Lieutenant's  chaplains,  and  thus  put  in  the  way  of 
promotion  generally.  But  on  one  unlucky  Sunday  the 
following  incident  occurred.  It  must  be  remembered 
that  these  were  the  early  days  of  the  Hanoverian  succes- 
sion, and  that  Ireland  had  been  the  scene  of  the  last 
struggle  for  the  Stuarts.  He  was  preaching  in  Cork,  in 
the  principal  church  of  the  town  on  the  1st  of  August, 
which  was  kept  as  the  King's  birthday. 

"  Dr.  Sheridan,  after  a  very  solemn  preparation,  and  when 
he  had  drawn  to  himself  the  mute  attention  of  his  congrega- 
tion, slowly  and  emphatically  delivered  his  text.  Sufficient 
unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  The  congregation  being 
divided  in  political  opinions,  gave  to  the  text  a  decided 
political  construction,  and  on  the  reverend  preacher  again 
reading  the  text  with  more  marked  emphasis  became  excited, 
and  listened  to  the  sermon  with  considerable  restlessness  and 
anxiety." 

Another  account  describes  this  sermon  as  having  been 
preached  before  the  Lord-Lieutenant  himself,  an  honour 
for  which  the  preacher  was  not  prepared,  and  which 
confused  him  so  much  that  he  snatched  up  the  first  ser- 
mon that  came  to  hand,  innocent  of  all  political  intention, 
as  well  as  of  the  date  which  gave  such  piquancy  to  his 
text.  But  whatever  the  cause,  the  effect  was  disastrous. 
He  "  shot  his  fortune  dead  by  chance-medley  "  with  this 
single  text.  He  lost  his  chaplaincy,  and  is  even  said  to 
have  been  forbidden  the  viceregal  court,  and  all  the  ways 
of  promotion  were  closed  to  him  for  ever.  But  his  spirit 
was  not  broken  by  his  evil  luck.  "  Still  he  remained  a 
punster,  a  quibbler,  a  fiddler,  and  a  wit.     Not  a  day 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  5 

passed  without  a  rebus,  an  anagram,  or  a  madrigal.  His 
pen  and  his  fiddle  were  constantly  in  motion."  He  had 
"  such  a  ready  wit  and  flow  of  humour  that  it  was  impos- 
sible for  any,  even  the  most  splenetic  man  not  to  be 
cheerful  in  his  company."  "In  the  invitations  sent  to 
the  Dean,  Sheridan  was  always  included ;  nor  was  Swift 
to  be  seen  in  perfect  good  humour  unless  when  he  made 
part  of  the  company."  Nothing  could  be  more  con- 
genial to  the  name  of  Sheridan  than  the  description  of 
this  lighthearted  and  easy-minded  clerical  humorist, 
whose  wit  no  doubt  flashed  like  lightning  about  all  the 
follies  of  the  mimic  court  which  had  cast  him  out,  and 
whose  jovial  hand-to-mouth  existence  had  all  that  acci- 
dentalness  and  mixture  of  extravagance  and  penury 
which  is  the  natural  atmosphere  of  such  reckless  souls. 
It  is  even  said  that  Swift  made  use  of  his  abilities  and 
appropriated  his  wit :  the  reader  must  judge  for  him- 
self whether  the  Dean  had  any  need  of  thieving  in  that 
particular. 

Dr.  Sheridan's  son,  Thomas  Sheridan,  was  a  very 
different  man.  He  was  very  young  when  he  was  left  to 
make  his  way  in  the  world  for  himself;  he  had  been 
designed,  it  would  appear,  to  be  a  schoolmaster  Uke  his 
father ;  but  the  stage  has  always  had  an  attraction  for 
those  Avhose  associations  are  connected  -with  that  more 
serious  stage,  the  pulpit,  and  Thomas  Sheridan  became 
an  actor.  He  is  the  author  of  a  life  of  Swift,  said  to 
be  "pompous  and  dull," — qualities  which  seem  to  have 
mingled  oddly  in  his  own  character  with  the  Hghthearted 
recklessness  of  his  race.  His  success  on  the  stage  was 
not  so  great  as  was  his  popularity  as  a  teacher  of  elocu- 
tion, an  art  for  which  he  seems  to  have  conceived  an 


6  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

almost  fanatical  enthusiasm.  Considering  oratory,  not 
without  reason,  as  the  master  of  all  arts,  he  spent  a  great 
part  of  his  life  in  eager  efforts  to  form  a  school  for  its 
study,  after  a  method  of  his  own.  This  was  not  a  suc- 
cessful project,  nor,  according  to  the  little  gleam  of  light 
thro^vn  upon  his  system  by  Dr.  Parr,  does  it  seem  to 
have  been  a  very  elevated  one.  "One  of  Eichard's 
sisters  now  and  then  visited  Harrow,"  he  says,  "  and  well 
do  I  remember  that  in  the  house  where  I  lodged  she 
triumphantly  repeated  Dryden's  ode  upon  St.  Cecilia's 
Day,  according  to  the  instruction  given  her  by  her  father. 
Take  a  sample  : — 

'  None  but  the  brave, 
None  but  the  brave, 
None  hut  the  brave  deserve  the  fair.'  " 

Thomas  Sheridan,  however,  was  not  without  apprecia- 
tion as  an  actor,  and,  like  every  ambitious  player  of  the 
time,  had  his  hopes  of  rivalling  Garrick,  and  was  fondly 
considered  by  his  friends  to  be  worthy  comparison  with 
that  king  of  actors.  He  married  a  lady  who  held  no 
inconsiderable  place  in  the  light  literature  of  the  time, 
which  was  little,  as  yet,  invaded  by  feminine  adventure — 
the  author  of  a  novel  called  Sidney  Biddulph  and  of  various 
plays.  And  there  is  a  certain  reflection  of  the  same  kind 
of  friendship  which  existed  between  Swift  and  the  elder 
Sheridan  in  Bos  well's  description,  in  his  Life  of  Johnson, 
of  the  loss  his  great  friend  had  sustained  through  a 
quarrel  with  Thomas  Sheridan  "  of  one  of  his  most  agree- 
able resources  for  amusement  in  his  lonely  evenings." 
It  would  appear  that  at  this  time  (1763)  Sheridan  and 
his  wife  were  settled  in  London. 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  7 

"  Slieridan's  well-informed,  animated,  and  bustling  mind 
never  suffered  conversation  to  stagnate,"  Boswell  adds,  "  and 
Mrs.  Sheridan  was  a  most  agreeable  companion  to  an  intel- 
lectual man.  Slie  was  sensible,  ingenious,  unassuming,  yet 
communicative.  I  recollect  wdtli  satisfaction  many  pleasing 
hours  which  I  passed  with  her  under  the  hospitable  roof  of 
her  husband,  w^ho  was  to  me  a  very  kind  friend.  Her  novel 
entitled  Memoirs  of  Miss  Sidney  Biddulph  contains  an  excellent 
moral,  while  it  inculcates  a  future  state  of  retribution  ;  and 
what  it  teaches  is  impressed  upon  the  mind  by  a  series  of  as 
deep  distresses  as  can  afflict  humanity  in  the  amiable  and 
pious  heroine.  .  .  .  Johnson  paid  her  this  high  compliment 
upon  it :  '  I  know  not,  madam,  that  you  have  a  right  upon 
high  principles  to  make  your  readers  suffer  so  much.' " 

The  cause  of  Johnson's  quarrel  with  Sheridan  is  said 
to  have  been  some  slighting  words  reported  to  the  latter, 
which  Johnson  had  let  fall  when  he  heard  that  Sheridan 
had  received  a  pension  of  £200  a  year  from  Government. 
"  What !  have  they  given  him  a  pension  ?  then  it  is  time 
for  me  to  give  up  mine  " — a  not  unnatural  cause  of 
offence,  and  all  the  more  so  that  Sheridan  flattered  him- 
self he  had,  by  his  interest  with  certain  members  of  the 
ministry,  who  had  been  his  pupils,  helped  to  procure  his 
pension  for  Johnson  himself. 

These  were  the  palmy  days  of  the  Sheridan  family. 
Their  children,  of  whom  Eichard  was  the  third,  had  been 
born  in  Dublin,  where  the  two  little  boys,  Richard  and 
his  elder  brother  Charles,  began  their  education  under  the 
charge  of  a  schoolmaster  named  Whyte,  to  whom  they 
were  committed  with  a  despairing  letter  from  their 
mother,  who  evidently  had  found  the  task  of  their  educa- 
tion too  much  for  her.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Sheridan,  in  an  age 
of  epigrams,  was  not  above  the  pleasure,  so  seductive  to 
all  who  possess  the  gift,  of  writing  a  clever  letter.     She 


8  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tells  the  schoolmaster  that  the  little  pupils  she  is  sending 
him  will  be  his  tutors  in  the  excellent  quality  of  patience. 
*'  I  have  hitherto  been  their  only  instructor,"  she  says, 
"  and  they  have  sufficiently  exercised  mine,  for  two  such 
impenetrable  dunces  I  never  met  with."  This  is  the 
first  certificate  with  which  the  future  wit  and  dramatist 
appeared  before  the  world.  When  the  parents  went  to 
London  in  1762,  the  boys  naturally  accompanied  them. 
And  this  being  a  time  of  prosperity,  when  Thomas 
Sheridan  had  Cabinet  Ministers  for  his  pupils,  and  inte- 
rest enough  to  help  the  great  man  of  letters  of  the  age 
to  a  pension,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  if  that  hope  which 
never  springs  eternal  in  any  human  breast  so  warmly  as 
in  that  of  a  man  who  lives  by  his  wits,  and  never  knows 
what  the  morrow  may  bring  forth,  should  have  so 
encouraged  the  vivacious  Irishman  as  to  induce  him  to 
send  his  boys  to  Harrow,  proud  to  give  them  the  best  of 
education,  and  opportunity  of  making  friends  for  them- 
selves. His  pension,  his  pupils,  his  acting,  his  wife's 
literary  gains,  all  conjoined  to  give  a  promise  of  pros- 
perity. When  his  friends  discussed  him  behind  his 
back,  it  is  true  they  were  not  very  favourable  to  him. 
"  There  is  to  be  seen  in  Sheridan  something  to  reprehend, 
and  everything  to  laugh  at,"  says  Johnson,  in  his  "  big 
bow-wow  style ;"  "but,  sir,  he  is  not  a  bad  man.  No, 
sir :  were  mankind  to  be  divided  into  good  and  bad,  he 
would  stand  considerably  within  the  ranks  of  the  good." 
The  same  authority  said  of  him  that  though  he  could 
"  exhibit  no  character,"  yet  he  excelled  in  "  plain  decla- 
mation " ;  and  he  was  evidently  received  in  very  good 
societj^,  and  was  hospitable  and  entertained  his  friends, 
fts  it  was  his  nature  to  do.     Evidently,  too,  he  had  no 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  9 

small  opinion  of  himself.  It  is  from  Johnson's  own 
mouth  that  the  following  anecdote  at  once  of  his  liber- 
ality and  presumption  is  derived.  It  does  not  show  his 
critic,  perhaps,  in  a  more  favourable  light. 

"  Sheridan  is  a  wonderful  admirer  of  the  tragedy  of 
Douglas,  and  presented  its  author  with  a  gold  medal.  Some 
years  ago,  at  a  coffee-house  in  Oxford,  I  called  to  him — *  Mr. 
Sheridan,  Mr.  Sheridan  I  how  came  you  to  give  a  gold  medal 
to  Home  for  writing  that  horrid  play  1 '  This  you  see  was 
wanton  and  insolent :  but  I  meant  to  be  wanton  and  insolent. 
A  medal  has  no  value  but  as  a  stamp  of  merit,  and  was 
Sheridan  to  assume  to  himself  the  right  of  giving  that  stamp  ? 
If  Sheridan  was  magnificent  enough  to  bestow  a  gold  medal 
as  an  honorary  mark  of  dramatic  merit,  he  should  have  re- 
quested one  of  the  Universities  to  choose  the  person  on  whom 
it  should  be  conferred.  Sheridan  had  no  right  to  give  a 
stamp  of  merit  ;  it  was  counterfeiting  Apollo's  coin." 

The  Irishman's  vanity,  prodigality,  and  hasty  assump- 
tion of  an  importance  to  which  he  had  no  right  could 
scarcely  be  better  exemplified — nor,  perhaps,  the  reader 
will  say,  the  privileged  arrogance  of  the  great  critic.  It 
is  more  easy  to  condone  the  careless  extravagance  of  the 
one  than  the  deliberate  insolence  of  the  other.  The 
comment,  however,  is  just  enough ;  and  so,  perhaps,  was 
his  description  of  the  Irishman's  attempt  to  improve  the 
elocution  of  his  contemporaries.  "  What  influence  can 
Mr.  Sheridan  have  upon  the  language  of  this  great 
country  by  his  narrow  exertions  1"  asks  the  great  lexico- 
grapher. "  Sir,  it  is  burning  a  candle  at  Dover  to  show 
light  at  Calais."  But  when  Johnson  says,  "  Sir,  Sherry  is 
dull,  naturally  dull :  but  it  must  have  taken  him  a  great 
deal  of  pains  to  become  what  we  now  see  him.  Such  an 
excess  of  stupidity,  sir,  is  not  in  nature,"  —  we  acknow- 


10  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

ledge  the  wit,  but  doubt  the  fact.  Thomas  Sheridan  very 
likely  wanted  humour,  and  was  unable  to  perceive  when 
he  made  himself  ridiculous,  as  in  the  case  of  the  medal  ; 
but  we  want  a  great  deal  more  evidence  to  induce  us  to 
believe  that  the  son  of  the  jovial  Dublin  priest,  and  the 
father  of  Sheridan  the  great,  could  have  been  dull.  He 
was  very  busy — "bustling,"  as  Boswell  calls  him,  his 
schemes  going  to  his  head,  his  vanity  and  enthusiasm 
combined  making  him  feel  himself  an  unappreciated 
reformer — a  prophet  thrown  away  upon  an  ungrateful 
age.  But  stupidity  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  follies. 
He  was  "  a  wrong-headed  whimsical  man,"  Dr.  Parr  tells 
us,  but  adds,  "  I  respected  him,  and  he  really  liked  me 
and  did  me  some  important  services."  "  I  once  or  twice 
met  his  (Richard  Sheridan's)  mother :  she  was  quite  celes- 
tial." Such  are  the  testimonies  of  their  contemporaries. 
It  was  not  long,  however,  that  the  pair  were  able  to 
remain  in  London.  There  is  a  whimsical  indication  of 
the  state  of  distress  into  which  Thomas  Sheridan  soon 
fell  in  the  mention  by  Boswell  of  "the  extraordinary 
attention  in  his  own  country"  with  which  he  had  been 
"  honoured,"  by  having  had  "  an  exception  made  in  his 
favour  in  an  Irish  Act  of  Parliament  concerning  insolvent 
debtors."  "Thus  to  be  singled  out,"  says  Johnson,  "by 
Legislature  as  an  object  of  public  consideration  and 
kindness  is  a  proof  of  no  common  merit."  It  was  a 
melancholy  kind  of  proof,  however,  and  one  which  few 
would  choose  to  be  gratified  by.  The  family  went  to 
France,  leaving  their  boys  at  Harrow,  scraping  together 
apparently  as  much  as  would  pay  their  expenses  there — 
no  small  burden  upon  a  struggling  man.  And  at  Blois, 
in  17GG,  Mrs.  Sheridan  died.    "  She  appears,"  says  Moore, 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  11 

"to  have  been  one  of  those  rare  women  who,  united 
to  men  of  more  pretensions  but  less  real  intellect  than 
themselves,  meekly  conceal  this  superiority  even  from 
their  own  hearts,  and  pass  their  Hves  without  a  remon- 
strance or  murmur  in  gently  endeavouring  to  repair  those 
evils  which  the  indiscretion  or  vanity  of  their  partners 
have  brought  upon  them."  Except  that  she  found  him 
at  seven  an  impenetrable  dunce,  there  is  no  record  of 
any  tie  of  sympathy  existing  between  Mrs.  Sheridan 
and  her  brilliant  boy. 

He  had  not  perhaps,  indeed,  ever  appeared  in  this 
character  during  his  mother's  lifetime.  At  Harrow  he 
made  but  an  unsatisfactory  appearance.  "  There  was 
little  in  his  boyhood  worth  communication,"  says  Dr. 
Parr,  whose  long  letter  on  the  subject  all  Sheridan's 
biographers  quote ;  "he  was  inferior  to  many  of  his 
schoolfellows  in  the  ordinary  business  of  a  school,  and  I 
do  not  remember  any  one  instance  in  which  he  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  Latin  or  English  composition 
either  in  prose  or  verse."  This  is  curious  enough;  but 
it  is  not  impossible  that  the  wayward  boy,  if  he  did 
adventure  himself  in  verse,  would  think  it  best  to  keep 
his  youthful  compositions  sacred  from  a  master's  eye. 
Verse  writers,  both  in  the  dead  languages  and  in  the 
living,  flourished  at  Harrow  in  those  days  of  whom  no 
one  has  heard  since,  "  but  Eichard  Sheridan  aspired  to 
no  rivalry  with  either  of  them."  Notwithstanding  this 
absence  of  all  the  outward  show  of  talent,  Parr  was  not 
a  man  to  remain  unconscious  of  the  glimmer  of  genius  in 
the  Irish  boy's  bright  eyes.  When  he  found  that  Dick 
would  not  construe  as  he  ought,  he  laid  plans  to  take  him 
with  craft,  and  "  did  not  fail  to  probe  and  tease  him.'* 


12  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

"  I  stated  his  case  with  great  good  humour  to  the  upper 
master,  who  was  one  of  the  best  tempered  men  in  the  world  : 
and  it  was  agreed  between  us  that  Richard  should  be  called 
oftener  and  worked  more  severely.  The  varlet  was  not  suf- 
fered to  stand  up  in  his  place,  but  was  summoned  to  take  his 
station  near  the  master's  table,  where  the  voice  of  no  prompter 
could  reach  him  :  and  in  this  defenceless  condition  he  was 
so  harassed  that  he  at  last  gathered  up  some  grammatical 
rules  and  prepared  himself  for  his  lessons.  While  this  tor- 
menting process  was  inflicted  upon  him,  I  now  and  then 
upbraided  him.  But  you  will  take  notice  that  he  did  not 
incur  any  corporal  punishment  for  his  idleness  :  his  industry 
was  just  sufficient  to  keep  him  from  disgrace.  All  the  while 
Sumner  and  I  saw  in  him  vestiges  of  a  superior  intellect. 
His  eye,  his  countenance,  his  general  manner,  were  striking  ; 
his  answers  to  any  common  question  were  prompt  and  acute. 
We  knew  the  esteem  and  even  admiration  which  somehow  or 
other  all  his  schoolfellows  felt  for  him.  He  was  mischievous 
enough,  but  his  pranks  were  accompanied  by  a  sort  of 
vivacity  and  cheerfulness  which  delighted  Sumner  and  my- 
self. I  had  much  talk  with  him  about  his  apple  loft,  for  the 
supply  of  which  all  the  gardens  in  the  neighbourhood  were 
taxed,  and  some  of  the  lower  boys  were  employed  to  furnish 
it.  I  threatened,  but  without  asperity,  to  trace  the  depredators 
through  his  associates  up  to  the  leader.  He  with  perfect 
good  humour  set  me  at  defiance,  and  I  never  could  bring 
home  the  charge  to  him.  All  boys  and  all  masters  were 
pleased  with  him." 

The  amount  of  "  good  humour "  in  this  sketch  is 
enough  to  make  the  Harrow  of  last  century  look  like  a 
scholastic  paradise ;  and  the  humorous  torture  to  which 
young  Sheridan  was  subjected  shows  a  high  sense  of  the 
appropriate  either  in  "the  best  tempered  man  in  the 
world,"  or  in  the  learned  doctor  who  .loved  to  set  forth 
his  own  doings  and  judgment  in  the  best  light,  and 
had  the  advantage  of  telling  his  story  after  events  had 
shown  what  the  pupil  was.     Parr,  however,  modestly 


1.1  HIS  YOUTH.  13 

disowns  the  credit  of  having  developed  the  intellec- 
tual powers  of  Sheridan,  and  neither  were  they  stimu- 
lated into  literary  effort  by  Sumner,  the  head-master  of 
Harrow,  who  was  a  friend  of  his  father,  and  had  there 
fore  additional  opportunities  of  knowing  the  boy's  capa- 
bilities. "  We  both  of  us  discovered  great  talents  which 
neither  of  us  were  capable  of  calling  into  action  while 
Sheridan  was  a  schoolboy,"  Parr  says.  In  short,  it  is 
evident  that  the  boy,  always  popular  and  pleasant, 
amusing  and  attracting  his  schoolfelloAvs,  and  on  per- 
fectly amicable  terms  with  the  masters,  even  when  he 
was  doubtful  about  his  lesson,  took  no  trouble  what- 
ever with  his  work,  and  cared  nothing  for  the  honours 
of  school.  He  kept  himself  afloat,  and  that  was  all. 
His  sins  were  not  grievous  in  any  way.  He  had  it  not 
in  his  power  to  be  extravagant,  for  Thomas  Sheridan  in 
his  bankrupt  condition  must  have  had  hard  enough  ado 
to  keep  his  boys  at  Harrow  at  all.  But  it  is  very  clear 
that  neither  scholarship  nor  laborious  mental  exertion 
of  any  kind  tempted  him.  He  took  the  world  lightly 
and  gaily,  and  enjoyed  his  schoolboy  years  all  the  more 
that  there  was  nothing  of  the  struggle  of  young  ambition 
in  them.  When  his  family  came  back  from  France 
shortly  after  the  mother's  death,  it  is  with  a  little  gush 
of  enthusiasm  that  his  sister  describes  her  first  meet- 
ing after  long  separation  with  the  delightful  brother 
whom  she  had  half  forgotten,  and  who  appears  like  a 
young  hero  in  all  the  early  bloom  of  seventeen,  with 
his  Irish  charm  and  his  Harrow  breeding,  to  the  eyes  of 
the  little  girl,  accustomed  no  doubt  to  shabby  enough 
gentlemen  in  the  cheap  retreats  of  English  poverty  in 
France. 


14  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

"  He  was  handsome,  not  merely  in  the  eyes  of  a  partial 
sister,  but  generally  allowed  to  be  so.  His  cheeks  had  the 
glow  of  health,  his  eyes — the  finest  in  the  world — the  bril- 
liancy of  genius,  and  were  soft  as  a  tender  and  affectionate 
heart  could  render  them.  The  same  playful  fancy,  the  same 
sterling  and  innoxious  wit  that  was  shown  afterwards  in  his 
writings,  cheered  and  delighted  the  family  circle.  I  admired 
— I  almost  adored  him  !  " 

No  doubt  the  handsome  merry  boy  was  a  delightful 
novelty  in  the  struggling  family,  where  even  the  girls  were 
taught  to  mouth  verses,  and  the  elder  brother  had  begun 
to  accompany  his  father  on  his  half-vagabond  career  as  a 
lecturer,  to  give  examples  of  the  system  of  elocution 
upon  which  he  had  concentrated  all  his  faculties.  After 
a  short  stay  in  London  the  family  went  to  Bath,  where 
for  a  time  they  settled,  the  place  in  its  high  days  of 
fashion  being  propitious  to  all  the  arts.  The  father, 
seldom  at  home,  lived  a  hard  enough  life,  lecturing, 
teaching,  sometimes  playing,  pursuing  his  favourite  object 
as  hotly  as  was  practicable  through  all  the  struggles 
necessary  to  get  a  living,  such  as  it  was,  now  abundant, 
now  meagre,  for  his  family ;  while  the  girls  and  boys 
lived  a  sort  of  hap-hazard  existence  in  the  gay  citj'', 
getting  what  amusement  they  could — motherless,  and 
left  to  their  own  resources,  yet  finding  society  of  a  suf- 
ficiently exciting  kind  among  the  visitors  with  whom  the 
town  overflowed,  and  the  artist-folk  who  entertained 
them.  Here,  while  Charles  worked  with  his  father, 
Richard  would  seem  to  have  done  nothing  at  all,  but 
doubtless  strolled  about  the  fashionable  promenade  among 
the  bucks  and  beaux,  and  heard  all  that  was  going  on, 
and  saw  the  scandal-makers  nod  their  heads  together, 
and  the  officers  now  and  then  arrange  a  duel,  and  Lydia 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  15 

Languish  ransack  the  circulating  libraries.  They  were 
all  about  in  those  lively  streets,  Mrs.  Malaprop  deranging 
her  epitaphs,  and  Sir  Lucius  with  his  pistols  always 
ready,  and  the  little  waiting-maid  tripping  about  the 
scene  with  Delia's  letters  and  Broken  Vows  under  her 
arm.  The  young  gentleman  swaggering  among  them  saw 
everything  without  knowing  it,  and  remembered  those 
familiar  figures  when  the  time  came  :  but  in  the  mean- 
while did  nothing,  living  pleasantly  ^vith  his  young  sisters, 
no  doubt  very  kind  to  them,  and  spending  all  the  money 
the  girls  could  spare  out  of  their  Uttle  housekeeping, 
and  falling  in  love,  the  most  natural  amusement  of  all. 

It  is  A\Tong,  however,  to  say  that  he  was  entirely 
idle.  At  Harrow  he  had  formed  an  intimate  friend- 
ship with  a  youth  more  ambitious  than  himself,  the 
Nathaniel  Halhed  whom  Dr.  Parr  chronicles  as  having 
" -written  well  in  Latin  and  Greek."  With  this  young 
man  Sheridan  entered  into  a  sort  of  literary  partnership 
both  in  classical  translation  and  dramatic  composition. 
Their  first  attempt  was  a  farce  called  Jupter ;  the 
subject  being  the  story  of  Ixion,  in  which,  curiously 
enough,  the  after-treatment  of  the  Critic  is  shadowed 
forth  in  various  points,  the  little  drama  being  in  the 
form  of  a  rehearsal  before  a  tribunal  not  unlike  that  to 
which  Mr.  PufF  submits  his  immortal  tragedy.  Simile, 
the  supposed  author,  indeed  says  one  or  two  things  which 
are  scarcely  unworthy  of  PufiP.  The  follo-wang  passage 
occurs  in  a  scene  in  which  he  is  explaining  to  his  critics 
the  new  fashion  of  composition,  how  the  music  is  made 
first,  and  "  the  sense  "  afterwards  (a  process  no  ways 
astonishing  to  the  present  generation),  and  how  "  a  com- 
plete set  of  scenes  from  Italy  "  is  the  first  framework  of 


16  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

the  play  which  "some  ingenious  hand"  writes  up  to. 
"  By  this  method,"  says  one  of  the  wondering  commen- 
tators, "  you  must  often  commit  blunders  ? " 

"  Simile.  Blunders  !  to  be  sure  I  must,  but  I  always  could 
get  myself  out  of  them  again.  "Wliy,  I'll  tell  you  an  instance 
of  it.  You  must  know  I  was  once  a  journeyman  sonnet- 
writer  to  Signor  Squaltini.  Now,  his  method,  when  seized 
with  the  furor  harmonicus,  was  constantly  to  make  me  sit  by 
his  side,  while  he  was  thrumming  on  his  harpsichord,  in  order 
to  make  extempore  verses  to  whatever  air  he  should  beat  out 
to  his  liking.  I  remember  one  morning  as  he  was  in  this 
situation — thrum,  thrum,  thrum  (moving  his  fingers  as  if  beating 
on  the  harpsichord),  striking  out  something  prodigiously  great 
as  he  thought — 'Hah!'  said  he  ;  'hah  !  Mr.  Simile — thrum, 
thrum,  thrum — by  gar,  him  is  vary  fine — write  me  some  words 
directly.'  I  durst  not  interrupt  him  to  ask  on  what  subject, 
so  instantly  began  to  describe  a  fine  morning. 

Calm  was  the  land  and  calm  the  skies, 

And  calm  the  heaven's  dome  serene, 
Hush'd  was  the  gale  and  hush'd  the  breeze, 

And  not  a  vapour  to  be  seen. 

I  sang  it  to  his  notes.  '  Hah !  upon  my  word,  vary  pritt — 
thrum,  thrum,  thrum.  Stay,  stay  !  Now,  upon  my  word,  here 
it  must  be  an  adagio.  Thrum,  thrum,  thrum.  Oh  !  let  it  be 
an  Ode  to  Melancholy,' 

Monop.   The  devil !  then  you  were  puzzled  sure 

Sim.  Not  in  the  least !  I  brought  in  a  cloud  in  the  next 
stanza,  and  matters,  you  see,  came  about  at  once. 

Monop.  An  excellent  transition. 

O^Cd.   Vastly  ingenious,  indeed. 

Sim.  Was  it  not,  very  ?  it  required  a  little  command — a 
little  presence  of  mind." 

When  the  rehearsal  begins,  the  resemblance  is  still 
more  perfect,  though  there  is  no  reproduction  either  of 
the  plot  or  characters  introduced.  We  are  not  told  how 
much  share  Halhcd  had  in  tlie  composition :  it  was  he 


I. J  HIS  YOUTH.  17 

who  furnished  the  skeleton  of  the  play,  but  it  is  scarcely 
possible  that  such  a  scene  as  the  above  could  be  from 
any  hand  but  Sheridan's.  This  youthful  effort  was  never 
finished.  It  was  to  have  brought  in  a  sum  of  money, 
which  they  both  wanted  much,  to  the  young  authors : 
"The  thoughts,"  Halhed  says,  "of  £200  shared  between 
us  are  enough  to  bring  the  water  into  one's  eyes."  Hal- 
hed, then  at  Oxford,  wanted  the  money  above  all  things 
to  enable  him  to  pay  a  visit  to  Bath,  where  lived  the 
young  lady  whom  all  these  young  men  adored ;  and  young 
Sheridan,  who  can  doubt,  required  it  for  a  thousand  uses. 
But  they  were  both  at  an  age  when  a  great  part  of  plea- 
sure lies  in  the  planning,  and  when  the  mind  is  easily 
diverted  to  another  and  another  new  beginning.  A  pub- 
lication of  the  Tatler  type  was  the  next  project,  to  be 
called  (one  does  not  know  why)  Eernan's  Miscellany; 
but  this  never  went  further  than  a  part  composition  of 
the  first  number,  which  is  somewhat  feeble  and  flippant,  as 
the  monologue  of  an  essayist  of  that  old-fashioned  type,  if 
not  under  any  special  inspiration,  is  apt  to  be.  Finally 
the  young  men  succeeded  in  producing  a  volume  of  so- 
called  translations  from  a  dubious  Latin  author  called 
Aristaenetus,  of  whom  no  one  knows  much,  and  on  whom 
at  least  it  was  very  easy  for  them  to  father  the  light  and 
frothy  verses,  which  no  one  was  likely  to  seek  for  in  the 
original — if  an  original  existed.  Their  preface  f avoui's  the 
idea  that  the  whole  business  was  a  literary  hoax  by  which 
they  did  not  even  expect  their  readers  to  be  taken  in. 
Arisicenetus  got  itself  published,  the  age  being  fond  of 
classics  rubbed  down  into  modern  verse,  but  does  not  seem 
to  have  done  any  more.  The  two  young  men  were  in  hopes 
that  Sumner,  their  old  master,  "  and  the  wise  few  of  their 

0 


18  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

acquaintance,"  would  talk  about  the  book,  and  perhaps 
discover  the  joint  authorship,  and  help  them  to  fame  and 
profit.  But  these  hopes  were  not  realised,  as  indeed  they 
did  not  in  the  least  deserve  to  be.  They  were  flattered 
by  being  told  that  Johnson  was  supposed  to  be  the  author, 
which  must  have  been  a  friendly  invention ;  and  Halhed 
tried  to  believe  that  "  everybody  had  read  the  book,"  and 
that  the  second  part,  vaguely  promised  in  the  preface  on 
condition  of  the  success  of  the  first,  "  should  be  published 
immediately,  being  of  opinion  that  the  readers  of  the 
first  volume  would  be  sure  to  purchase  the  second,  and 
that  the  publication  of  the  second  would  put  it  into  the 
heads  of  others  to  buy  the  first," — a  truly  business-like 
argument,  which,  however,  did  not  convince  the  book- 
sellers. It  seems  a  pity  to  burden  the  collection  of  Sheri- 
dan's works  now  with  these  unprofitable  verses,  which  were 
never  acknowledged,  and  did  not  even  procure  for  young 
Halhed,  who  wanted  it  so  much,  the  happiness  of  a  visit 
to  Bath,  or  a  sight  of  the  object  of  his  boyish  adoration. 
It  is  the  presence  of  this  lady  which  gives  interest  and 
romance  to  the  early  chapter  of  Sheridan's  life,  and  the 
record  cannot  go  further  without  bringing  her  in.  There 
flourished  at  Bath  in  those  days  a  family  called  by  Dr. 
Burney,  in  his  History  of  Music,  a  nest  of  nightingales, 
— the  family  of  Linley,  the  composer,  who  had  been  for 
years  at  the  head  of  musical  enterprise  in  the  district,  the 
favourite  singing  master,  the  conductor  of  all  the  concerts, 
a  man  whom  Bath  delighted  to  honour,  and  whose  fame 
spread  over  England  by  means  of  the  leau  monde  which 
took  the  waters  in  that  city  of  pleasure.  The  position 
that  such  a  man  takes  in  a  provincial  town  has  become 
once  more  so  much  like  what  it  was  in  the  latter  half  of 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  19 

last  century,  when  Handel  was  at  Windsor  and  Eng- 
land in  one  of  its  musical  periods,  that  it  will  be  easily- 
realised  by  the  reader.  The  brevet  rank,  revocable  at 
the  pleasure  of  society,  which  the  musical  family  obtains, 
its  admission  among  all  the  fine  people,  the  price  it  has  to 
pay  for  its  elevation,  and  the  vain  hope  that  it  is  prized 
for  its  own  personal  qualities,  which  flatters  it  while  in  its 
prime  of  attraction, — the  apparent  equality,  nay,  almost 
superiority,  of  the  triumphant  musicians  among  their  pat- 
rons, who  yet  never  forget  the  real  difi"erence  between 
them,  and  whose  homage  is  often  little  more  than  a  form  of 
insult, — give  a  dramatic  interest  to  the  group  such  as  few 
possess.  This  was  the  position  held  by  the  Linleys  among 
the  fine  people  of  Bath.  There  were  beautiful  girls  in 
the  musician's  house,  which  was  always  open,  hospitable, 
and  bright,  and  where  a  perpetual  flutter  of  admiration 
and  compliments,  half  afi'ectionate,  haK  humorous,  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  coterie,  was  in  the  ears  of  the  young  crea- 
tures in  all  their  early  essays  in  art.  Men  of  wealth  and 
sometimes  of  rank,  the  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood, 
the  officers  and  the  wits, — all  friends  of  Linley,  and  glad 
to  invite  him  to  club  and  coff'ee-house  and  mess-room, — 
were  always  about  to  furnish  escorts  and  a  flattering  train 
wherever  the  young  singers  went.  The  eldest  daughter, 
Elizabeth — or  Eliza,  as  it  was  the  fashion  of  the  time 
to  shorten  and  vulgarise  that  beautiful  name — was  a 
lovely  girl  of  sixteen  when  the  young  Sheridans  became 
known  about  Bath.  Her  voice  was  as  lovely  as  her  face, 
and  she  was  the  prima  donna  of  her  father's  concerts, 
going  with  him  to  sing  at  festivals  in  other  cathedral 
towns,  and  often  to  Oxford,  where  she  had  turned  the 
head  of  young  Halhed  and  of  many  an  undergraduate 


20  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap, 

beside.  In  Bath  the  young  men  were  all  at  her  feet,  and 
not  only  the  young  men,  as  was  natural,  but  the  elder  and 
less  innocent  members  of  society.  That  the  musician  and 
his  wife  might  have  entertained  hopes  or  even  allowed 
themselves  to  be  betrayed  into  not  entirely  unjustifiable 
schemings  to  marry  their  beautiful  child  to  somebody  who 
would  raise  her  into  a  higher  sphere,  may  well  be  believed. 
One  such  plan  indeed  it  is  evident  did  exist,  which  the 
poor  girl  herself  foiled  by  making  an  artless  confession 
to  the  man  whom  her  parents  had  determined  she  should 
marry — "Mr.  Long,  an  old  gentleman  of  considerable 
fortune,"  who  had  the  magnanimity  to  take  upon  himself 
the  burden  of  breaking  the  engagement,  and  closed  the 
indignant  father's  mouth  by  settling  a  little  fortune  of 
£3000  upon  the  young  lady. 

A  danger  escaped  in  this  way,  however,  points  to  man}' 
other  pitfalls  among  which  her  young  feet  had  to  tread^ 
and  one  at  least  of  a  far  more  alarming  kind  has  secured 
for  itself  a  lasting  place  in  her  future  husband's  history. 
There  is  a  curious  letter  ^  extant,  which  is  printed  in  all 
Sheridan's  biographies,  and  in  which  Eliza  gives  an  ac- 
count to  a  dear  friend  and  confidant  of  the  toils  woven. 
around  her  by  one  of  her  father's  visitors,  a  certain 
Captain  Matthews,  who,  though  a  married  man  and  much 
older  than  herself,  had  beguiled  the  simple  girl  into  a 
prolonged  and  clandestine  sentimental  correspondence. 
The  sophisticated  reader,  glancing  at  this  quaint  pro- 
duction, without  thought  of  the  circumstances  or  the 

^  ]\Irs.  Norton  in  a  preliminary  sketch  to  an  intended  history  of 
the  Sheridans,  never  written,  denies  the  authenticity  of  this  letter 
with  a  somewhat  ill-directed  family  pride  :  but  no  doubt  has  been 
thrown  upon  it  by  any  of  Sheridan's  biographers. 


I.J  HIS  YOUTH.  21 

person,  would  probably  conclude  that  there  was  harm  in 
it,  which  it  is  very  certain  from  all  that  is  said  and  done 
besides  did  not  exist ;  but  the  girl  in  her  innocence  evi- 
dently felt  that  the  stolen  intercourse,  the  whisperings 
aside,  the  man's  protestations  of  fondness,  and  despair  if 
she  withdrew  from  him,  and  her  own  half-flattered  half- 
frightened  attraction  towards  him,  were  positive  guilt. 
The  letter,  indeed,  is  Lydia  Languish  from  beginning  to 
end, — the  Lydia  Languish  of  real  life  without  any  genius 
to  trim  her  utterance  into  just  as  much  as  is  needful  and 
characteristic, — and  in  consequence  is  somewhat  tedious, 
long-winded,  and  confused ;  but  her  style,  something 
betAveen  Clarissa  Harlowe  and  Julia  Mannering,  is  quite 
appropriate  at  once  to  the  revelation  and  the  period. 
The  aff'air  to  which  her  letter  refers  has  occupied  far  too 
much  space,  we  think,  in  the  story  of  Sheridan's  life,  yet 
it  is  a  curious  exposition  of  the  time,  the  class,  and  the 
locality.  The  Maid  of  Bath,  as  she  was  called,  had 
many  adorers.  Young  Halhed,  young  Charles  Sheridan 
— neither  of  them  with  much  to  offer — followed  her 
steps  wherever  she  moved,  and  applauded  to  the  echo 
every  note  she  sang,  as  did  many  another  adorer ;  while 
within  the  busy  and  full  house  the  middle^ged  visitor, 
her  father's  so-called  friend,  had  a  hundred  opportunities 
for  a  whispered  word,  a  stolen  caress,  half  permissible  for 
the  sake  of  old  friendship,  and  because  no  doubt  he  had 
known  her  from  a  child.  But  even  at  sixteen  the  eyes 
of  a  girl  accustomed  to  so  many  tributes  would  soon  be 
opened,  and  the  poor  Lydia  became  alarmed  by  the 
warmth  of  her  half-paternal  lover  and  by  the  secrecy  of 
his  communications.  This  was  her  position  at  the  time 
the  Sheridans  appear  upon  the  scene. 


22  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

The  new  influence  immediately  began  to  tell.  Miss 
Linley  and  Miss  Sheridan  became  devoted  friends — and 
the  two  brothers  "  on  our  first  acquaintance  both  pro- 
fessed to  love  me."  She  gave  them  no  hope  "that  I 
should  ever  look  upon  them  in  any  other  light  than  as 
brothers  of  my  friend  ; "  but  yet  "  preferred  the  youngest" 
as  "by  far  the  most  agreeable  in  person,  beloved  by  every 
one,  and  greatly  respected  by  all  the  better  sort  of  people." 
Eichard  Sheridan,  it  would  seem,  immediately  assumed 
the  position  of  the  young  lady's  secret  guardian.  He 
made  friends  with  Matthews,  became  even  intimate  with 
him,  and  thus  discovered  the  villainous  designs  which  he 
entertained ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  obtained  the 
confidence  of  the  lady,  and  became  her  chief  adviser. 
It  was  a  curious  position  for  a  young  man — but  he  was 
very  young,  very  poor,  without  any  prospects  that  could 
justify  him  in  entering  the  lists  on  his  own  account;  and 
while  he  probably  succeeded  in  convincing  Miss  Linley 
that  his  love  for  her  was  subdued  into  friendship,  he 
seems  to  have  been  able  to  keep  his  secret  from  all  his 
competitors,  and  not  to  have  been  suspected  by  any  of 
them.  In  the  heat  of  the  persecution  by  Matthews,  who 
resisted  all  her  attempts  to  shake  off  his  society,  frighten- 
ing her  by  such  old-fashioned  expedients  as  threatening 
his  own  life,  and  declaring  that  he  could  not  live  without 
seeing  her — incessant  consultations  were  necessary  with 
the  young  champion  who  knew  the  secret,  and  whose 
advice  and  countenance  were  continually  appealed  to.  No 
doubt  they  met  daily  in  the  ordinary  course  at  each  other's 
houses  ;  but  romance  made  it  desirable  that  they  should 
find  a  secret  spot  where  Eliza  could  confide  her  troubles 
to  Richard,  and  he  warn  her  and  encourage  her  in  her 


r.]  HIS  YOUTH.  23 

resistance.  "  A  grotto  in  Sydney  Gardens  "  is  reported 
to  have  been  the  scene  of  these  meetings.  On  one  occa- 
sion the  anxious  adviser  must  have  urged  his  warnings 
too  far,  or  insisted  too  warmly  upon  the  danger  of  her 
position,  for  she  left  him  angrily,  resenting  his  interfer- 
ence :  and  this  was  the  occasion  of  the  verses  addressed 
to  Delia  which  he  left  upon  the  seat  of  the  grotto  for  her, 
with  an  apparently  well- justified  but  somewhat  rash  con- 
fidence that  they  would  fall  into  no  other  hands.  In 
this,  after  celebrating  the  "  moss-covered  grotto  of  stone  " 
and  the  dew-dripping  willow  that  overshadows  it,  he 
unfolds  the  situation  as  follows  : — 

**  — this  is  the  grotto  where  Delia  reclined, 
As  late  I  in  secret  her  confidence  sought ; 
And  this  is  the  tree  kept  her  safe  from  the  wind, 
As  blushing  she  heard  the  grave  lesson  I  taught. 

"  Then  tell  me  thou  grotto  of  moss-covered  stone, 

And  tell  me  thou  willow  with  leaves  dripping  dew, 
Did  Delia  seem  vexed  when  Horatio  was  gone. 
And  did  she  confess  her  resentment  to  you  ? 

"  Methinks  now  each  bough  as  you're  waving  it  tries 
To  whisper  a  cause  for  the  sorrow  I  feel. 
To  hint  how  she  frowned  when  I  dared  to  advise, 
And  sigh'd  when  she  saw  that  I  did  it  with  zeal. 

"  True,  true,  silly  leaves,  so  she  did  I  allow ; 
•     She  frowned,  but  no  rage  in  her  looks  did  I  see  ; 
She  frowned,  but  reflection  had  clouded  her  brow, 
She  sigh'd,  but  perhaps  'twas  in  pity  for  me. 


*'  For  well  did  she  know  that  my  heart  meant  no  wrong, 
It  sank  at  the  thought  but  of  giving  her  pain  ; 
But  trusted  its  task  to  a  faltering  tongue, 

Which  err'd  from  the  feelings  it  would  not  explain. 


U  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

"  Yet  oh,  if  indeed  I've  offended  the  maid, 
If  Delia  my  humble  monition  refuse, — 
Sweet  willow,  the  next  time  she  visits  thy  shade, 
Fan  gently  her  bosom  and  plead  its  excuse. 

"  And  thou,  stony  grot,  in  thy  arch  may'st  preserve 
Two  lingering  drops  of  the  night-fallen  dew  ; 
And  just  let  them  fall  at  her  feet,  and  they'll  serve 
As  tears  of  my  sorrow  entrusted  to  yoiL" 

This  is  not  very  fine  poetry ;  but  it  is  very  instructive 
as  to  the  curious  complication  of  affairs.  It  would  not 
have  suited  Captain  Absolute  to  play  such  a  part ;  but 
Lydia  Languish,  amid  all  the  real  seriousness  of  the 
dilemma,  no  doubt  would  have  derived  a  certain  comfort 
from  the  romantic  circumstances  altogether — the  villain, 
on  one  hand,  threatening  to  lay  his  death  at  her  door ; 
the  modest  self-suppressed  adorer,  on  the  other,  devoting 
himself  to  her  service;  the  long  confidential  conferences 
in  the  dark  and  damp  little  shelter  behind  the  willow; 
the  verses  left  on  the  seat; — nothing  could  have  been 
more  delightful  to  a  romantic  imagination. 

But  the  excitement  heightened  as  time  went  on ;  and 
the  poor  girl  was  so  harassed  and  persecuted  by  the  man 
whose  suit  was  a  scandal,  that  she  tried  at  last,  she  tells  us, 
to  take  poison  as  the  only  way  of  escape  for  her,  searching 
for  and  finding  in  Miss  Sheridan's  room  a  small  phial  of 
laudanum,  which  had  been  used  for  an  aching  tooth,  and 
which  was  too  small  apparently  to  do  any  harm.  After 
this  tremendous  evidence  of  her  miserable  state,  Sheridan, 
who  would  seem  to  have  confined  himself  hitherto  to 
warnings  and  hints,  now  disclosed  the  full  turpitude  of 
Matthews'  intentions,  and  showed  her  a  letter  in  which 
the  villain  announced  that  he  had  determined  to  proceed 


r.]  HIS  YOUTH.  25 

to  strong  measures,  and  if  he  could  not  overcome  her  by 
pleadings  meant  to  carry  her  off  by  force.  "  The  moment 
I  read  this  horrid  letter  I  fainted,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  I  could  recover  my  senses  sufficiently  to  thank  Mr. 
Sheridan  for  opening  my  eyes."  But  the  question  now 
was,  What  was  to  be  done  1  For  the  poor  girl  seems  to 
have  had  no  confidence  in  her  father's  power  of  protect- 
ing her,  and  probably  knew  the  inexpediency  of  embroil- 
ing him  with  his  patrons.  The  two  young  creatures  laid 
their  foolish  heads  together  in  this  crisis  of  fate — the 
girl  thoroughly  frightened,  the  youth  full  of  chivalrous 
determination  to  protect  her,  and  doubtless  not  without 
a  hotheaded  young  lover's  hope  to  turn  it  to  his  own 
advantage.  He  proposed  that  she  should  fly  to  France, 
and  there  take  refuge  in  a  convent  till  the  danger  should 
be  over.  His  own  family  had  left  France  only  a  few 
years  before,  and  the  sister  who  was  Eliza's  friend  would 
recommend  her  to  the  kind  nuns  at  St.  Quentin,  where 
she  had  herself  been  brought  up.  "He  would  go  Avith 
me  to  protect  me,  and  after  he  had  seen  me  settled  he 
would  return  to  England  and  place  my  conduct  in  such 
a  light  that  the  world  would  applaud  and  not  condemn 
me." 

Such  was  the  wonderful  expedient  by  which  the  dif- 
ficulties of  this  terrible  crisis  were  surmounted.  Her 
mother  was  ill  and  the  house  in  great  disorder,  and  under 
cover  of  the  accidental  commotion  young  Sheridan 
handed  the  agitated  girl  into  a  chair, — his  sister,  who 
was  in  the  secret,  and,  no  doubt,  in  high  excitement  too, 
coming  secretly  to  help  her  to  pack  up  her  clothes ;  and 
that  night  they  posted  off  to  London.  "  Sheridan  had 
engaged  the  wife  of  one  of  his  servants  to  go  with  me  as 


26  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

a  maid  without  my  knowledge.  You  may  imagine  how 
pleased  I  was  with  his  delicate  behaviour."  This  last 
particular  reaches  the  very  heights  of  chivalry,  for,  no 
doubt,  it  must  have  been  quite  a  different  matter  to  the 
impassioned  boy  to  conduct  the  flight,  with  a  common- 
place matron  seated  in  his  post-chaise  between  him  and 
his  beautiful  Delia,  instead  of  the  tete-a-tete  which  he  might 
so  easily  have  secured.  Next  day  they  crossed  the  Channel 
to  the  little  sandy  port  of  Dunkirk  and  were  safe. 

And  it  would  seem  that  the  rash  young  lover  was 
very  honest  and  really  meant  to  carry  out  this  mad 
project;  for  she  did  eventually  reach  her  convent,  whither 
he  attended  her  with  punctilious  respect.  But  when 
they  were  fairly  laimched  upon  their  adventurous  career, 
either  common  sense  or  discreet  acquaintances  soon  made 
it  apparent  to  the  young  man  that  a  youth  and  a  maiden, 
however  virtuous,  cannot  rove  about  the  world  in  this  way 
without  comment,  and  that  there  was  but  one  thing  to 
be  done  in  the  circumstances.  Perhaps  Miss  Linley  had 
begun  to  feel  something  more  than  the  mere  "  preference 
for  the  youngest,"  which  she  had  so  calmly  announced, 
or  perhaps  it  was  only  the  desperate  nature  of  the  cir- 
cumstances that  made  her  yield.  But  however  that  may 
be,  the  two  fugitives  went  through  the  ceremony  of  mar- 
riage at  Calais,  though  they  seem  to  have  separated 
immediately  afterwards,  carrying  out  the  high  sentimental 
and  Platonic  romance  to  the  end. 

It  is  a  curious  commentary,  however,  upon  the  prodi- 
gality of  the  penniless  class  to  which  Sheridan  belonged, 
that  he  could  manage  to  start  off  suddenly  upon  this 
journey  out  of  Thomas  Sheridan's  shifty  household,  where 
money  was  never  abundant,  a  boy  of  twenty  with  nothing 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  27 

of  his  own — hurrying  up  to  London  with  post-horses,  and 
hiring  magnificently  "  the  wife  of  one  of  his  servants  "  to 
attend  upon  his  love.  The  words  suggest  a  retinue  of 
retainers,  and  the  journey  itself  would  have  taxed  the 
resources  of  a  youth  much  better  endowed  than  Sheridan. 
Did  he  borrow,  or  run  chivalrously  into  dehtl  or  how  did 
he  manage  it  1  His  sister  "  assisted  them  with  money 
out  of  her  little  fund  for  house  expenses,"  but  that  would 
not  go  far.  Perhaps  the  friend  in  London  (a  "  respectable 
brandy-merchant")  to  whom  he  introduced  Miss  Linley  as 
an  heiress  who  had  eloped  with  him,  may  have  helped  on 
such  a  warrant  to  furnish  the  funds.  But  there  is  no- 
thing more  remarkable  than  the  ease  with  which  these 
impecunious  gallants  procure  post-chaises,  servants,  and 
luxuries  in  those  dashing  days.  The  young  men  think 
nothing  of  a  headlong  journey  from  Bath  to  London  and 
back  again,  which,  notwithstanding  all  our  increased 
facilities  of  locomotion,  penniless  youths  of  to-day  would 
hesitate  about.  To  be  sure  it  is  possible  that  credit  was 
to  be  had  at  the  livery -stables,  whereas,  fortunately, 
none  is  possible  at  the  railway  station.  Post-horses 
seem  to  have  been  an  afi'air  of  every  day  to  the  heroes 
of  the  Crescent  and  the  Parade. 

Meanwhile  everything  was  left  in  commotion  at  home. 
Charles  Sheridan,  the  elder  brother,  had  left  Bath  and 
gone  to  the  country  in  such  dejection,  after  Miss  Linley's 
final  refusal  of  his  addresses,  as  became  a  sentimental 
lover.  When  Eichard  went  off"  triumphant  -with  the 
lady,  his  sisters  were  left  alone  in  great  excitement  and 
agitation,  and  their  landlord,  thinking  the  girls  required 
"protection,"  according  to  the  language  of  the  time,  set 
out  at  break  of  day  to  bring  back  the  rejected  from  his 


28  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

retirement.  The  feelings  of  Charles  on  finding  that  his 
younger  brother,  whom  even  the  girls  did  not  know  to  be 
a  lover  of  Miss  Linley,  had  carried  off  the  prize,  may  be 
imagined.  But  the  occasion  of  the  elopement,  the  design- 
ing villain  of  the  piece, — the  profligate  whose  pursuit  had 
driven  the  lady  to  despair, — was  furious.  Miss  Linley 
had  no  doubt  left  some  explanation  of  the  extraordinary 
step  she  was  taking  wdth  her  parents,  and  Sheridan 
appears  to  have  taken  the  same  precaution  and  disclosed 
the  reasons  which  prompted  her  flight.  When  Matthews 
heard  of  this  he  published  the  following  advertisement 
in  a  Bath  newspaper. 

"  Mr.  Richard  s**  '*****  havhig  attempted, 
in  a  letter  left  behind  him  for  that  purpose,  to  account  for  his 
scandalous  method  of  running  away  from  this  place  by  insinua- 
tions derogatory  to  my  character  and  that  of  a  young  lady 
innocent  so  far  as  relates  to  me  or  my  knowledge  ;  since 
which  he  has  neither  taken  any  notice  of  letters,  or  even 
informed  his  own  family  of  the  place  where  he  has  hid  him- 
self: I  can  no  longer  think  he  deserves  the  treatment  of  a 
gentleman,  and  therefore  shall  trouble  myself  no  further 
about  him  than,  in  this  public  method,  to  post  him  as  a 
L    *    *    *    and  a  treacherous  s******** 

"  And  as  I  am  convinced  there  have  been  many  malevolent 
incendiaries  concerned  in  the  propagation  of  this  infamous 
lie,  if  any  of  them,  unprotected  by  age,  infirmities,  or  pro- 
fession, will  dare  to  acknowledge  the  part  they  have  acted, 
and  affirm  to  what  they  have  said  of  me,  they  may  depend 
on  receiving  the  proper  reward  of  their  villainy  in  the  most 
public  manner." 

This  fire-eating  paragraph  was  signed  -wdth  the  writer's 
name,  and  it  may  be  imagined  what  a  delightful  commo- 
tion it  made  in  such  a  metropolis  of  scandal  and  leisure, 
and  with   Mhat  excitement  all  the  frequenters   of  the 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  29 

pump-room  and  the  assemblies  looked  for  the  next  inci- 
dent. Some  weeks  elapsed  before  they  were  satisfied, 
but  the  following  event  was  striking  enough  to  content  the 
most  sensational  imagination.  It  would  seem  to  have 
been  April  before  a  clue  was  found  to  the  fugitives,  and 
Linley  started  at  once  from  Bath  to  recover  his  daughter. 
He  found  her,  to  his  great  relief  doubtless,  in  the  house 
of  an  English  doctor  in  Lisle,  who  had  brought  her  there 
from  her  convent,  and  placed  her  under  his  wife's  care 
to  be  nursed  when  she  was  ill.  Everything,  it  was 
evident,  had  been  done  in  honour,  and  the  musician 
seems  to  have  been  so  thankful  to  find  things  no  worse 
that  he  took  the  young  people's  explanations  in  good  part. 
He  would  even  seem  to  have  made  some  sort  of  condi- 
tional promise  that  she  should  no  longer  be  compelled 
to  perform  in  public  after  she  had  fulfilled  existing  en- 
gagements, and  so  brought  her  back  peacefully  to  Bath. 
Richard,  who  in  the  meantime,  in  his  letters  home,  had 
spoken  of  his  bride  as  Miss  L.,  announcing  her  settlement 
in  her  convent,  ^Wthout  the  slightest  intimation  of  any 
claim  on  his  part  upon  her,  seems  to  have  returned  with 
them;  but  no  one,  not  even  Miss  Linley's  father,  was 
informed  of  the  Calais  marriage,  which  seems,  in  all  good 
faith,  to  have  been  a  form  gone  through  in  case  any 
scandal  should  be  raised,  but  at  present  meaning  nothing 
more.  And  Bath,  mth  all  its  scandal-mongers,  at  a 
period  when  the  general  imagination  was  far  from 
delicate,  seems  to  have  accepted  the  escapade  with  a  con- 
fidence in  both  the  young  people,  and  entire  belief  in  their 
honour,  which  makes  us  think  better  both  of  the  age  and 
the  town.  We  doubt  whether  such  faith  would  be  shoAvn 
in  the  hero  and  heroine  of  a  similar  freak  in  our  own  day. 


30  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Young  Sheridan,  however,  came  home  to  no  peaceable 
reception.  He  had  to  meet  his  indignant  brother  in  the 
first  place,  and  to  settle  the  question  raised  by  the  in- 
sulting advertisement  of  Matthews,  which  naturally  set 
his  youthful  blood  boiling.  Before  his  return  to  Bath  he 
had  seen  this  villain  in  London,  who  had  the  audacity 
to  disclaim  the  advertisement  and  attribute  it  to  Charles 
Sheridan — a  suggestion  which  naturally  brought  the  young 
man  home  furious.  The  trembling  sisters,  delighted  to 
welcome  Eichard,  and,  eager  to  know  all  about  his  adven- 
ture, had  their  natural  sentiments  checked  by  the  gloomy 
looks  with  which  the  brothers  met;  and  went  to  bed 
reluctantly  that  first  evening,  hearing  the  young  men's 
voices  high  and  angry,  and  anticipating  with  horror  a 
quarrel  between  them.  Next  morning  neither  of  them 
appeared.  They  had  gone  off  again  with  those  so-easily- 
obtained  post-horses  to  London.  A  terrible  time  of 
waiting  ensued ;  the  distracted  girls  ran  to  the  Linleys, 
but  found  no  information  there.  They  expected  nothing 
better  than  to  hear  of  a  duel  between  their  brothers 
for  the  too-charming  Eliza's  sake. 

Hitherto,  all  has  been  the  genteelest  of  comedy  in 
fine  eighteenth-century  style  :  the  villain  intriguing,  the 
ardent  young  lover  stealing  the  lady  out  of  his  clutches, 
and  Lydia  Languish  herself  not  without  a  certain  delight 
in  the  romance,  notwithstanding  all  her  flutterings  :  the 
post-chaise  dashing  through  the  night,  the  alarms  of  the 
voyage,  the  curious  innocent  delusion  of  the  marriage, 
complaisant  priest  and  homely  confidant,  and  guardian- 
bridegroom  with  a  soul  above  every  ungenerous  advan- 
tage. But  the  following  act  is  wildly  sensational.  The 
account  of  the  brawl  that  follows  is  given  at  length  by 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  81 

aU  Sheridan's  biographers.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say 
that  when  the  brothers,  angry  as  both  were,  had  mutually 
explained  themselves,  it  was  not  to  lift  unnatural  hands 
against  each  other  that  they  sallied  forth,  while  the 
girls  lay  listening  and  trembling  upstairs,  but  to  jump 
once  more  into  a  post-chaise,  and  rattle  over  the  long 
levels  of  the  Bath  road  to  town  through  the  dewy  chill 
of  a  May  night,  which  did  nothing,  however,  towards 
cooling  their  hot  blood.  Before  leaving  Bath,  Eichard 
had  flashed  forth  a  letter  to  the  Master  of  the  Ceremonies, 
informing  him  that  Matthews'  conduct  had  been  such 
that  no  verbal  apology  could  now  be  accepted  from  him. 
The  first  step  the  hero  took  on  arriving  in  London  was 
to  challenge  the  villain,  who  indeed  would  seem  to  have 
behaved  as  infamously  as  the  most  boldly-drawn  villain 
on  the  stage  could  be  represented  as  doing.  And  then 
comes  a  most  curious  scene.  The  gentlemen  with  their 
rapiers  go  out  to  the  Park,  walking  out  together  about 
six  in  the  evening,  apparently  a  time  when  the  Park  was 
almost  empty ;  but  on  various  pretences  the  ofl'ender  de- 
clines to  fight  there,  with  an  air  of  endeavouring  to  slip  out 
of  the  risk  altogether.  After  several  attempts  to  persuade 
him  to  stand  and  draw,  the  party,  growing  more  and  more 
excited,  at  length  go  to  a  coff'ee-house,  "The  Castle  Tavern, 
Henrietta  Street" — having  first  called  at  two  or  three 
other  places,  where  their  heated  looks  would  seem  to  have 
roused  suspicion.  Their  march  through  the  streets  in  the 
summer  evening  on  this  strange  errand,  each  ^\ith  his 
second,  the  very  sword  quivering  at  young  Richard's  side 
and  the  blood  boiling  in  his  veins,  among  all  the  peaceful 
groups  streaming  away  from  the  Park,  is  wonderful 
to  think  of.     When  they  got  admittance  at  last  to  a 


32  RICHARD  BRI^N^SLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

private     room    in     the     tavern,    the    following    scene 

occurs : — 

"  Mr.  Ewart  (the  second  of  Sheridan)  took  lights  up  in 
his  hand,  and  almost  immediately  on  our  entering  the  room 
we  engaged.  I  struck  Mr.  Matthews'  point  so  much  out  of 
the  line  that  I  stepped  up  and  caught  hold  of  his  wrist,  or 
the  hilt  of  his  sword,  while  the  point  of  mine  was  at  his 
breast.  You  (the  letter  is  addressed  to  the  second  on  the 
other  side)  ran  in  and  caught  hold  of  my  arm,  exclaiming — 
'Don't  kill  him  !'  I  struggled  to  disengage  my  arm,  and 
said  his  sword  was  in  my  power.  Mr.  Matthews  called  out 
twice  or  thrice,  '  I  beg  my  life.'  You  immediately  said 
'  There  !  he  has  begged  his  life,  and  now  there  is  an  end  of 
it ; '  and  on  Mr.  Ewart's  saying  that  when  his  sword  was  in 
my  power,  as  I  attempted  no  more  you  should  not  have  inter- 
fered, you  replied  that  you  were  wrong,  but  that  you  had 
done  it  hastily  and  to  prevent  mischief — or  words  to  that 
effect.  Mr.  Matthews  then  hinted  that  I  was  rather  obliged 
to  your  interposition  for  the  advantage  :  you  declared  that 
before  you  did  so  both  the  swords  were  in  Mr.  Sheridan's 
power.  Mr.  Matthews  still  seemed  resolved  to  give  it  another 
turn,  and  observed  that  he  had  never  quitted  his  sword. 
Provoked  at  this  I  then  swore  (mth  too  much  heat,  perhaps) 
that  he  should  either  give  up  his  sword  and  I  would  break 
it,  or  go  to  his  guard  again.  He  refused — but  on  my  persist- 
ing either  gave  it  into  my  hand,  or  flung  it  on  the  table  or  the 
ground  (which,  I  wdll  not  absolutely  affirm).  I  broke  it  and 
flung  the  hilt  to  the  other  end  of  the  room.  He  exclaimed 
at  this.  I  took  a  mourning  sword  from  Mr.  Ewart,  and, 
presenting  him  with  mine,  gave  my  honour  that  what  had 
passed  should  never  be  mentioned  by  me,  and  he  might  now 
right  himself  again.  He  replied  that  he  '  would  never  draw  a 
sword  against  the  man  that  had  given  him  his  life '  ;  but  on 
his  still  exclaiming  against  the  indignity  of  breaking  his 
sword  (which  he  had  brought  upon  himself),  Mr.  Ewart  offered 
him  the  pistols,  and  some  altercation  passed  betw'een  them. 
Mr.  Mattliews  said  that  he  could  never  show  his  face  if  it  were 
known  that  his  sw^ord  was  broke — tliat  such  a  thing  had  never 
been  done — that  it  cancelled  all  obligations,  etc.     You  seemed 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  33 

to  think  it  was  wrong,  and  we  both  proposed  that  if  he  never 
misrepresented  the  attair  it  should  not  be  mentioned  by  ns. 
This  was  settled.  I  then  asked  Mr.  Matthews,  as  he  had 
expressed  himself  sensible  of  and  shocked  at  the  injustice  and 
indignity  he  had  done  me  by  his  advertisement,  whether  it  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  he  owed  me  another  satisfaction  :  and 
that  as  it  was  now  in  his  power  to  do  it  without  discredit,  I 
supposed  he  would  not  hesitate.  This  he  absolutely  refused, 
unless  conditionally.  I  insisted  on  it,  and  said  I  would  not 
leave  the  room  till  it  was  settled.  After  much  altercation, 
and  with  much  ill  grace,  he  gave  the  apology." 

There  could  not  be  a  more  curious  scene.  The  out- 
door duel  is  familiar  enough  both  to  fact  and  fiction; 
but  the  flash  of  the  crossing  swords,  the  sudden  rush,  the 
altercations  of  the  angry  group,  the  sullen  submission  of 
the  disarmed  bully,  going  on  by  the  light  of  the  flaring 
candles,  in  an  inn-parlour,  while  the  ordinary  bustle  of 
the  tavern  proceeded  peacefully  below,  is  as  strange  a 
picture  as  we  can  remember.  Sheridan's  account  of  the 
circumstances  was  made  in  answer  to  another,  which 
stated  them,  as  he  asserts,  falsel}^  The  brothers  re- 
turned home  on  Tuesday  morning  (they  had  left  Bath 
on  Saturday  night),  "much  fatigued,  not  having  been 
in  bed  since  they  left  home,"  Avith  Matthews'  apology, 
and  triumph  in  their  hearts,  to  the  great  consolation 
and  relief  of  the  anxious  girls.  But  their  triumph 
was  not  to  be  so  easy.  The  circumstances  of  the  duel 
oozed  out,  as  most  things  do,  and  Matthews,  stung  by 
shame,  challenged  Sheridan  again,  choosing  pistols  as  the 
weapons,  pior  to  suwds,  "from  a  conviction  that  Mr. 
Sheridan  would  run  in  on  him  and  an  ungentlemanly 
scuffle  probably  be  the  consequence."  This  presentiment 
very  evidently  was  justified ;  for  the  pistols  were  not 
used,  and  the  duel  ended  in  a  violent  scuffle — not  like 

D 


34  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap, 

the  usual  dignified  calm  which  characterises  such  deadly 
meetings.  Matthews  broke  his  sword  upon  Sheridan's 
ribs.  The  two  antagonists  fell  together,  Sheridan 
wounded  and  bleeding  underneath,  while  the  elder  and 
heavier  man  punched  at  him  with  his  broken  sword. 
They  were  separated  at  length  by  the  seconds,  Sheridan 
refusing  to  "beg  his  life."  He  was  carried  home  very 
seriously  wounded,  and,  as  was  believed,  in  great  danger. 
Miss  Linley  was  singing  at  Oxford  at  the  time,  and 
while  there  Sheridan's  wounded  condition  and  the  inci- 
dent altogether  was  concealed  from  her,  though  every- 
body else  knew  of  it  and  of  her  connection  with  it. 
When  it  was  at  last  communicated  to  her,  she  almost 
betrayed  their  secret,  which  even  now  nobody  suspected, 
by  a  cry  of  "  My  husband  !  my  husband  !"  which  startled 
all  who  were  present,  but  was  set  down  to  her  excite- 
ment and  distress,  and  presently  forgotten. 

This  tremendous  encounter  closed  the  episode.  Mat- 
thews had  vindicated  his  courage  and  obliterated  the 
stigma  of  the  broken  sword,  and  though  there  was  at  one 
moment  a  chance  of  a  third  duel,  thenceforward  we  hear 
little  more  of  him.  Sheridan  recovered  slowly  under  the 
care  of  his  sisters,  his  father  and  brother  being  again  absent 
and  not  very  friendly.  "  We  neither  of  us  could  approve 
of  the  cause  in  which  you  suffer,"  Charles  writes.  "All 
your  friends  here  (in  London)  condemn  you. "  The  brother, 
however,  has  the  grace  to  add  that  he  is  "  unhappy  at  the 
situation  I  leave  you  in  with  respect  to  money  matters," 
and  that  "  Ewart  was  greatly  vexed  at  the  manner  of 
your  drawing  for  the  last  twenty  pounds,"  so  that  it  seems 
the  respectable  brandy-merchant  had  been  the  family 
stand-by.     The  poor  young  fellow's  position  was  miser- 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  35 

able  enough — badly  wounded,  without  a  shilling,  his  love 
sedulously  kept  away  from  him,  and  the  bond  between 
them  so  strenuously  ignored,  that  he  promised  his  father, 
with  somewhat  guilty  disingenuousness,  that  he  never 
would  marry  Miss  Linley.  Life  was  altogether  at  a  low 
ebb  with  him.  When  he  got  better  he  was  sent  into  the 
country  to  Waltham  Abbey,  no  doubt  by  way  of  weaning 
him  from  all  the  seductions  of  Bath,  and  the  vicinity  of 
the  lovely  young  singer  who  had  resumed  her  profession 
though  she  hated  it,  and  was  to  be  seen  of  all  men  except 
the  faithful  lover  who  was  her  husband,  though  nobody 
knew. 

Before  we  conclude  this  chapter  of  young  life,  which 
reads  so  like  an  argument  to  the  Rivals  or  some  similar 
play,  we  may  indicate  some  of  Sheridan's  early  produc- 
tions which,  common  as  the  pretty  art  of  verse-making 
was,  showed  something  more  than  the  facile  knack  of 
composition,  which  is  one  of  what  were  entitled  in 
that  day  "the  elegant  qualifications"  of  golden  youth. 
Sacred  to  Eliza  Linley,  as  well  as  the  verses  about 
"the  moss-covered  grotto,"  was  the  follo^ving  graceful 
snatch  of  song,  which  is  pretty  enough  to  be  got  by 
heart  and  sung  by  love-sick  youths  in  many  generations 
to  some  pretty  rococo  air  as  fantastic  as  itself  :  — 

"  Dry  be  that  tear,  my  gentlest  love, 
Be  hush'd  that  struggling  sigh ; 
Nor  seasons,  day,  nor  fate  shall  prove 

More  fix'd,  more  true  than  I. 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh,  be  dry  that  tear, 
Cease  boding  doubt,  cease  anxious  fear. 
Dry  be  that  tear. 

Ask'st  thou  how  long  my  love  will  stay. 
When  all  that's  new  is  past? 


36  RICHAKD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chai'. 

How  long,  all  Delia,  can  I  say, 
How  long  my  life  will  last  ? 
Dry  be  that  tear,  be  bush'd  that  sigh, 
At  least  I'll  love  thee  till  I  die. 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh. 

And  does  that  thought  affect  thee  too, 

The  thought  of  Sylvio's  death, 
That  he  who  only  breath'd  for  you 

Must  yield  his  faithful  breath  ? 
Hush'd  be  that  sigh,  be  dry  that  tear, 
Nor  let  us  lose  our  heaven  here. 
Dry  be  that  tear." 

Moore,  with  a  pedantry  which  is  sufficiently  absurd, 
having  just  traced  an  expression  in  the  "moss-covered 
grotto"  to  a  classical  authority,  though  with  a  doubt  very 
favourable  to  his  own  scholarship,  "whether  Sheridan 
was  likely  to  have  been  a  reader  of  Augurianus,"  finds  a 
close  resemblance  in  the  above  to  "  one  of  the  madrigals 
of  Montreuil,"  or  perhaps  to  "  an  Italian  song  of  Manage." 
Very  likely  it  resembled  aU  those  pretty  things,  the 
rococo  age  being  not  yet  over  and  such  elegant  trifles 
still  in  fashion — as  indeed  they  will  always  be  as  long  as 
youth  and  its  sweet  f oUies  last. 

Other  pretty  bits  of  verse  might  be  quoted,  especially 
one  which  brings  in  another  delightful  literary  association 
into  the  story.  Lady  Margaret  Fordyce — the  beloved  sister 
at  whose  departure  from  the  old  home  in  Fife  Lady  Anne 
Lindsay  was  so  dejected,  that  to  console  herself  she  sang 
the  woes,  more  plaintive  still  than  her  owti,  of  that 
immortal  peasant  lass  who  married  Auld  Eobin  Gray 
— was  then  in  Bath,  and  had  been  dismissed  by  a  local 
versifier  in  his  description  of  the  beauties  of  the  place 
by   a   couplet   about    a    dimple,    which   roused   young 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  37 

Sheridan's  ^ATath.     "Could  yon,"  he  cries,  addressing  the 
poetaster — 

"•  Could  you  really  discover, 
In  gazing  those  sweet  beauties  over, 
No  other  charm,  no  winning  grace, 
Adorning  either  mind  or  face, 
But  one  poor  dimple  to  express 
The  quintessence  of  loveliness  ? 

]\Iark'd  you  her  cheek  of  rosy  hue  ? 
Mark'd  you  her  eye  of  sparkling  blue  ? 
That  eye  in  liquid  circles  moving. 
That  cheek,  abash'd  at  man's  approving  : 
The  one  Love's  arrows  darting  round, 
The  other  blushing  at  the  wound  ; 
Did  she  not  speak,  did  she  not  move, 
Now  Pallas — now  the  Queen  of  Love  1 " 

The  latter  lines  are  often  quoted,  but  it  is  pretty  to 
know  that  it  was  of  Lady  Anne's  Margaret  that  they  were 
said. 

It  is  probably  also  to  his  period  of  seclusion  and 
leisure  at  Waltham  that  the  early  dramatic  attempts  found 
by  Moore  among  the  papers  confided  to  him  belong.  One 
of  these  runs  to  the  length  of  three  acts,  and  is  a  work  of 
the  most  fantastic  description,  embodying,  so  far  as  it 
goes,  the  life  of  a  band  of  outlaws  calling  themselves 
Devils,  who  have  their  headquarters  in  a  forest  and  keep 
the  neighbourhood  in  alarm.  The  heroine,  a  mysterious 
and  beautiful  maiden,  is  secluded  in  a  cave  from  which 
she  has  never  been  allowed  to  go  out,  nor  has  she  ever 
seen  the  face  of  man  except  that  of  the  old  hermit,  who 
is  her  guardian.  She  has  been  permitted,  however,  one 
glimpse  of  a  certain  young  huntsman,  w^hom  she  considers 
a  phantom,  until  a  second  sight  of  him  when  he  is  taken 


38  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

prisoner  by  the  robbers,  and  unaccountably  introduced  into 
the  cave  where  she  lies  asleep,  convinces  her  of  his  reality, 
and  naturally  has  the  same  effect  upon  her  which  the 
sudden  apparition  of  Prince  Ferdinand  had  upon  Miranda. 
The  scene  is  pretty  enough  as  the  work  of  a  sentimental 
youth  in  an  age  addicted  to  the  highflown  everywhere, 
and  especially  on  the  stage.  The  hero,  when  unbound 
and  left  to  himself,  begins  his  soliloquy,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  with  a  "Ha !  where  am  If  but  changes  his  tone 
from  despair  to  rapture  when  he  sees  the  fair  Eeginilla 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  so  mysteriously  made.  "  Oh, 
would  she  but  wake  and  bless  this  gloom  with  her  bright 
eyes,"  he  says,  after  half  a  page.  "  Soft,  here's  a  lute : 
perhaps  her  soul  will  know  the  call  of  harmony."  Mrs. 
Radcliffe's  lovely  heroines,  at  a  still  later  period,  carried 
their  lutes  about  with  them  everywhere,  and  tuned  them 
to  the  utterance  of  a  favourite  copy  of  verses  in  the  most 
terrible  circumstances ;  so  that  the  discovery  of  so  handy 
an  instrument  in  a  robber's  cave  occasioned  no  surprise 
to  the  young  hero.  The  song  he  immediately  sung  has 
been,  Moore  confesses,  manipulated  by  himself.  "  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  supplying  a  few  rhymes  and  words 
that  are  wanting,"  he  says,  so  that  we  need  not  quote  it 
as  an  example  of  Sheridan.  But  the  performance  has  its 
desired  effect  and  the  lady  wakes. 


^^  Reg.  (waking).  The  phantom,  father!  (seizes  his  hand) 
Oh,  do  not — do  not  wake  me  thus. 

Huntsman  (kneeling).  Thou  beauteous  sun  of  this  dark 
world,  that  mak'st  a  place  so  like  the  cave  of  death  a  heaven 
to  me,  instruct  me  how  I  may  approach  thee — how  address 
thee  and  not  offend. 

Reg.  Oh,  how  my  soul  could  hang  upon  those  lips.      Speak 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  39 

on  !  and  yet  methinks  he  should  not  kneel.  Why  are  you 
afraid,  sir  ?  indeed  I  cannot  hurt  you, 

Hunts.  Sweet  Innocence,  I  am  sure  thou  would'st  not. 

Eeg.  Art  thou  not  he  to  whom  I  told  my  name,  and  did'st 
thou  not  say  thine  was 

Hints.  Oh  blessed  was  the  name  that  then  thou  told'st — 
it  has  been  ever  since  my  charm  and  kept  me  from  distraction. 
But  may  I  ask  how  such  sweet  excellence  as  thine  could  be 
hid  in  such  a  place  ? 

Reg.  Alas  !  I  know  not — for  such  as  thou  I  never  saw  before, 
nor  any  like  myself. 

Hunts.  Nor  like  thee  ever  shall ;  but  would'st  leave  this 
place  and  live  with  such  as  I  am  ? 

Reg.  Why  may  not  you  live  here  with  such  as  I  ? 

Hunts.  Yes,  but  I  would  carry  thee  where  all  above  an  azure 
canopy  extends,  at  night  bedropt  with  gems,  and  one  more 
glorious  lamp  that  yields  such  beautiful  light  as  love  enjoys  ; 
while  underneath  a  carpet  shall  be  spread  of  flowers  to  court 
the  presence  of  thy  step,  \ni\i  such  sweet-whispered  invitations 
from  the  leaves  of  shady  groves  or  murmuring  of  silver  streams, 
that  thou  shalt  think  thou  art  in  paradise. 

Reg.  Indeed  ! 

Hunts.  Ay,  and  I'll  watch  and  wait  on  thee  all  day,  and 
cull  the  choicest  flowers,  which  while  thou  bind'st  in  the 
mysterious  knot  of  love,  I'll  tune  for  thee  no  vulgar  lays,  or 
tell  thee  tales  shall  make  thee  weep,  yet  please  thee,  while 
thus  I  press  thy  hand,  and  warm  it  thus  with  kisses. 

Reg.  I  doubt  thee  not — but  then  my  Governor  has  told  me 
many  a  tale  of  faithless  men,  who  court  a  lady  but  to  steal 
her  peace.  .  .  .  Then,  wherefore  could'st  thou  not  live  here  ? 
For  I  do  feel,  though  tenfold  darkness  did  surround  this  spot, 
I  would  be  blest  would  you  but  stay  here  ;  and  if  it  make  you 
sad  to  be  imprisoned  thus,  I'd  sing  and  play  for  thee,  and 
dress  thee  sweetest  fruits,  and  though  you  chide  me  would  kiss 
thy  tears  away,  and  hide  my  blushing  face  upon  thy  bosom  : 
indeed  I  would.  Then  what  avails  the  gaudy  days,  and  all  the 
evil  things  I'm  told  inhabit  them,  to  those  who  have  within 
themselves  all  that  delight  and  love  and  heaven  can  give  ? 

Hunts.  My  angel,  thou  hast  indeed  the  soul  of  love. 

Reg.   It  is  no  ill  thing,  is  it  ? 


40  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Hunts.  Oh  most  divine — it  is  the  immediate  gift  of 
heaven " 

And  then  the  lute  is  brought  into  requisition  once 
more.  Other  scenes  of  a  much  less  superfine  description, 
in  one  of  which  the  hero  takes  the  semblance  of  a  dancing 
bear,  go  on  outside  this  sentimental  retirement,  and  some 
humour  is  expended  on  the  trial  of  various  prisoners 
secured  by  the  robbers,  who  are  made  to  believe  that 
they  have  left  this  world  and  are  being  brought  up  be- 
fore a  kind  of  Pluto  for  judgment  This  inflexible 
judge  orders  "  baths  of  flaming  sulphur  and  the  caldron 
of  boiling  lead  "  for  one  who  confesses  himself  to  have 
been  a  courtier ;  the  culprit's  part,  however,  is  taken  by 
a  compassionate  devil  who  begs  that  he  may  be  soaked 
a  little  first  in  scalding  brimstone  to  prepare  him  for 
his  final  sentence. 

Another  unfinished  sketch  called  the  Foresters  deals 
with  eff'ects  not  quite  so  violent.  To  the  end  of  his 
life  Sheridan  would  threaten  smilingly  to  produce  this 
play  and  outdo  everything  else  with  it,  but  the  existing 
framework  seems  to  have  been  of  the  very  slightest. 
Probably  to  a  much  later  period  belongs  the  projected 
play  upon  the  subject  of  Affectation^  for  which  were  in- 
tended many  memorandums  found  written  upon  the 
paper  books  in  which  his  thoughts  were  noted.  The 
subject  is  one  which,  in  the  opinion  of  various  critics, 
would  have  been  specially  adapted  to  Sheridan's  powers, 
and  Moore,  and  many  others  following  him,  express 
regret  that  it  should  have  been  abandoned.  But  no 
doubt  Sheridan's  instinct  warned  him  that  on  no  such 
set  plan  could  his  faculties  work,  and  that  the  stage, 
however   adapted   to   the  display  of  individual   eccen- 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH,  41 

tricities,  wants  something  more  than  a  bundle  of  em- 
bodied fads  to  make  its  performances  tell.  Sir  Bubble 
Bon,  Sir  Peregrine  Paradox,  the  representative  "man  who 
delights  in  hurry  and  interruption,"  the  "  man  intriguing 
only  for  the  reputation  of  it,"  the  "lady  who  affects 
poetry,"  and  all  the  rest,  do  well  enough  for  the  table- 
talk  of  the  imagination,  or  even  to  jot  down  and  play  Avith 
in  a  note-book  ;  but  Sheridan  was  better  inspired  than  to 
attempt  to  make  them  into  a  play.  He  had  already 
among  these  memorandums  of  his  the  first  ideas  of  almost 
all  his  future  productions,  the  primitive  notes  afterwards 
to  be  developed  into  the  brilliant  malice  of  the  scandal- 
mongers, the  first  conception  of  old  Teazle,  the  earliest 
adumbration  of  the  immortal  PufF.  But  the  little  verses 
which  we  have  already  quoted  were  the  best  of  his  actual 
achievements  at  this  early  period,  dictated  as  they  were 
by  the  early  passion  which  made  the  careless  boy  into 
a  man. 

At  least  one  other  poetical  address  of  a  similar  de- 
scription— stilted,  yet  not  without  a  tender  breath  of 
pastoral  sweetness — was  addressed  to  Eliza  after  she 
became  Sheridan's  wife,  and  told  how  Silvio  reclined 
upon  "  Avon's  ridgy  bank  " — 

"  Did  mock  the  meadow's  flowing  pride, 
Kail'd  at  the  dawn  and  sportive  ring  ; 
The  tabour's  call  he  did  deride 
And  said.  It  was  not  Spring. 

He  scorned  the  sky  of  aznre  blue, 

He  scorned  whate'er  could  mirth  bespeak, 

He  chid  the  beam  that  drank  the  dew. 

And  chid  the  gale  that  fanned  his  glowing  cheek. 

Unpaid  the  season's  wonted  lay. 

For  still  he  sighed  and  said.  It  was  not  May." 


42  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Which  is  of  course  explained  by  the  circumstance 
that  Deha  (for  the  nonce  called  Laura)  was  not  there. 
Laura  responded  in  verses  not  much  worse.  It  was  a 
pretty  commerce,  breathing  full  of  the  time  when  shep- 
herds and  shepherdesses  were  still  the  favourites  of 
dainty  poetry — a  fashion  which  seems  in  some  danger  of 
returning  with  the  other  quaintnesses  of  the  time.  But 
this  was  after  the  young  pair  were  united;  and  in  1772, 
when  he  had  recovered  of  his  wounds,  and  was  making 
what  shift  he  could  to  occupy  himself  in  the  solitude  of 
Waltham,  studying  a  little  for  a  variety,  reading  up  the 
History  of  England  and  the  works  of  Sir  William 
Temple,  by  way  of  improving  his  mind,  that  blessed 
event  seemed  distant  and  unlikely  enough. 

In  the  Lent  of  1773,  Miss  Linley  came  to  London  to 
sing  in  the  oratorios,  and  it  is  said  that  young  Sheridan 
resorted  to  the  most  romantic  expedients  to  see  her. 
He  was  near  enough  to  "tread  on  the  heels  of  perilous 
probabilities," — a  phrase  w^hich  Moore  quotes  from  one 
of  his  letters, — and  is  said  to  have  come  from  Wal- 
tham to  London,  and  to  have  disguised  himself  as  a 
hackney  coachman,  and  driven  her  home  from  her  per- 
formances on  several  occasions.  The  anonymous  author 
of  Sheridan  and  his  Times  asserts  that  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  by  some  accident,  the  lady  was  alone,  and  that 
this  opportunity  of  communication  led  to  a  series  of 
meetings,  which  at  length  convinced  the  parents  that 
further  resistance  was  hopeless.  During  all  this  time 
it  would  appear  the  marriage  at  Calais  was  never  referred 
to,  and  was  thought  nothing  of,  even  by  the  parties  most 
concerned.  It  was  intended  apparently  as  a  safeguard 
to  Delia's  reputation  should  need  occur,  but  as  nothing 


I.]  HIS  YOUTH.  43 

more ;  which  says  a  great  deal  for  the  romantic  gener- 
osity of  so  ardent  a  lover  and  so  penniless  a  man.  For 
Delia  had  her  little  fortune,  besides  all  the  other  charms 
which  spoke  so  much  more  eloquently  to  her  Silvio's 
heart,  and  was  indeed  a  liberal  income  in  herself,  to  any 
one  who  would  take  advantage  of  it,  with  that  lovely 
voice  of  hers.  But  the  young  man  was  romantically 
magnanimous  and  highflying  in  his  sense  of  honour. 
He  was  indeed  a  very  poor  match, — a  youth  without  a 
penny,  even  without  a  profession,  and  no  visible  means 
of  living, — for  the  adored  siren,  about  whom  wealthy 
suitors  were  dangling  by  the  dozen,  no  doubt  exciting 
many  anxious  hopes  in  the  breasts  of  her  parents,  if 
not  in  her  own  faithful  bosom.  But  love  conquered  in 
the  long  run,  as  an  honest  and  honourable  sentiment, 
if  it  lasts  and  can  wait,  is  pretty  sure  to  do.  In  April 
1773,  about  a  year  from  the  time  of  their  clandestine 
marriage  at  Calais,  they  were  married  in  the  eye  of  day, 
Avith  all  that  was  needful  to  make  the  union  dignified 
and  respectable ;  and  thus  the  bustling  little  romance  so 
full  of  incident,  so  entirely  ready  for  the  use  of  the 
drama,  so  like  all  the  favourite  stage-combinations  of  the 
time,  came  to  an  end.  We  do  not  hear  very  much  of 
Mrs.  Sheridan  afterwards  :  indeed,  except  the  letter  to 
which  we  have  referred,  she  does  little  to  disclose  her 
personality  at  any  time,  but  there  is  something  engaging 
and  attractive — a  sort  of  faint  but  sweet  reflection  raying 
out  from  her  through  all  her  life.  The  Lydia  Languish 
of  early  days — the  sentimental  and  romantic  heroine  of 
so  many  persecutions  and  pursuits,  of  the  midnight  flight 
and  secret  marriage — developed  into  one  of  those  favour- 
ites of  society,  half-artist,  half-fine-lady,  whose  exertions 


44  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.        [chap.  i. 

for  the  amusement  of  the  world  bring  nothing  to  them 
but  a  half-fictitious  position  and  dangerous  flatteries, 
without  even  the  public  singer's  substantial  reward — a 
class  embracing  many  charming  and  attractive  women, 
victims  of  their  own  gifts  and  graces.  Mrs.  Sheridan 
was,  however,  at  the  same  time — at  least  in  all  the  early 
part  of  her  career — a  devoted  wife,  and  seems  to  have 
done  her  best  for  her  brilliant  husband,  and  formed 
no  small  item  in  his  success  as  well  as  in  his  happiness 
as  long  as  her  existence  lasted.  It  is  said  that  she 
disliked  the  life  of  a  singer,  and  it  is  certain  that  she 
acquiesced  in  his  resolution  to  withdraw  her  from  all 
public  appearances;  but  even  in  that  point  it  is  very 
likely  that  there  Avas  some  unconsidered  sacrifice  in 
her  submission.  "Hers  was  truly  a  voice  as  of  the 
church  choir,"  says  a  contemporary  quoted  by  Moore, 
"  and  she  was  always  ready  to  sing  without  any  pressing. 
She  sang  here  a  great  deal  and  to  my  infinite  delight : 
but  what  had  a  peculiar  charm  was  that  she  used  to 
take  my  daughter,  then  a  child,  on  her  lap,  and  sing  a 
number  of  childish  songs  with  such  a  playfulness  of 
manner  and  such  a  sweetness  of  look  and  voice  as  was 
quite  enchanting." 


CHAPTER   II. 

HIS   FIRST  DRMIATIC   WORKS. 

Married  at  last  and  happy,  after  so  much  experience  of 
disappointment  and  hope  deferred,  Sheridan  and  his 
young  wife  took  a  cottage  in  the  country,  and  retired 
there  to  enjoy  their  long-wished-for  life  together,  and  to 
consider  an  important,  but  it  would  seem  not  absolutely 
essential  point — what  they  were  to  do  for  their  living. 
Up  to  this  point  they  have  been  so  entirely  the  person- 
ages of  a  drama,  that  it  is  quite  in  order  that  they 
should  retire  to  a  rose-covered  cottage,  "vvith  nothing  par- 
ticular to  live  upon;  and  that  the  young  husband,  though 
^vithout  any  trade  of  his  oaati  by  which  he  could  earn  a 
dinner,  should  magnificently  waive  off  all  offers  of  employ- 
ment for  his  wife,  who  had  a  trade — and  a  profitable  one. 
He  was  still  but  twenty-two  and  she  nineteen,  and  he 
had  hitherto  managed  to  get  all  that  was  necessary,  be- 
sides post-chaises  and  a  considerable  share  of  the  luxuries 
of  the  time,  as  the  lilies  get  their  bravery,  without  toil- 
ing or  spinning,  so  that  it  is  evident  the  young  man  con- 
fronted fate  with  very  little  alarm,  and  his  proud  attitude 
of  family  head  and  master  of  his  o^vn  wife  is  in  the  high- 
est degree  edifying  as  well  as  amusing.     We  can  scarcely 


46  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

help  doubting  greatly  whether  a  prima  donna  even  of 
nineteen  would  let  herself  be  disposed  of  now  by  such 
an  absolute  authority.  The  tone  of  the  letter  in  which 
he  communicates  to  his  father-in-law  his  lofty  determina- 
tion in  this  respect  will  show  the  young  men  of  to-day 
the  value  of  the  privileges  which  they  have,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  partially  resigned. 

"  Yours  of  the  3d  instant  did  not  reach  me  till  yesterday, 
by  reason  of  its  missing  us  at  Morden.  As  to  the  principal 
point  it  treats  of,  I  had  given  my  answer  some  days  ago  to 
Mr.  Isaac  of  Worcester.  He  bad  enclosed  a  letter  from 
Storace  to  my  wife,  in  which  he  dwells  much  on  the  nature  of 
the  agreement  you  had  made  for  her  eight  months  ago,  and 
adds  that  '  as  this  is  no  new  application,  but  a  request  that 
you  (Mrs.  S.)  will  fulfil  a  positive  engagement,  the  breach  of 
which  would  prove  of  fatal  consequence  to  our  meeting,  I 
hope  Mr.  Sheridan  will  think  his  honour  in  some  degree  con- 
cerned in  fulfilling  it'  Mr.  Storace,  in  order  to  enforce  Mr. 
Isaac's  argument,  showed  me  his  letter  on  the  same  subject  to 
him,  which  begins  with  saying, '  We  must  have  Mrs.  Sheridan 
somehow  or  other  if  possible,  the  plain  English  of  which  is 
that  if  her  husband  is  not  willing  to  let  her  perform,  we  will 
persuade  him  that  he  acts  dislionourably  in  preventing  her 
from  fulfilling  a  positive  engagement.'  This  I  conceive  to 
be  the  very  worst  mode  of  application  that  could  have  been 
taken  ;  as  there  really  is  not  common  sense  in  the  idea  that 
my  honour  can  be  concerned  in  my  wife's  fulfilling  an  engage- 
ment which  it  is  impossible  she  should  ever  have  made. 
Nor  (as  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Isaac)  can  you  who  gave  the  promise, 
whatever  it  was,  be  in  the  least  charged  with  the  breach  of  it, 
as  your  daughter's  marriage  was  an  event  which  must  always 
have  been  looked  to  by  them  as  quite  as  natural  a  period  to 
your  rights  over  her  as  her  death.  And  in  my  opinion  it 
would  have  been  just  as  reasonable  to  have  applied  to  you  to 
fulfil  your  engagement  in  the  latter  case  than  in  the  former. 
As  to  the  imprudence  of  declining  this  engagement,  I  do  not 
think,  even  were  we  to  suppose  that  my  wife  should  ever  on 


ri.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  47 

any  occasion  appear  again  in  public,  there  would  be  the  least 
at  present.  For  instance,  I  have  had  a  gentleman  with  me 
from  Oxford  (where  they  do  not  claim  the  least  right  as  from 
an  engagement)  who  has  endeavoured  to  place  the  idea  of  my 
complimenting  the  university  with  Betsey's  performance  in 
the  strongest  light  of  advantage  to  me.  This  he  said  on  my 
declining  to  let  her  perform  on  any  agreement.  He  likewise 
informed  me  that  he  had  just  left  Lord  North  (the  Chancellor), 
who,  he  assured  me,  would  look  upon  it  as  the  highest  compli- 
ment, and  had  expressed  himself  so  to  him.  Now,  should  it 
be  a  point  of  inclination  or  convenience  to  me  to  break  my 
resolution  with  regard  to  Betsey's  performing,  there  surely 
would  be  more  sense  in  obliging  Lord  North  (and  probably 
from  his  owti  application)  than  Lord  Coventry  and  Mr.  Isaac  ; 
for  were  she  to  sing  at  Worcester,  there  would  not  be  the  least 
compliment  in  her  performing  at  Oxford." 


The  poor  pretty  ^vife,  smiling  passive  in  the  back- 
ground while  my  young  lord  considers  whether  he  will 
"compliment  the  university"  with  her  performance,  is  a 
spectacle  which  ought  to  be  impressive  to  the  brides  of 
the  present  day,  who  take  another  view  of  their  position ; 
but  there  is  a  delightful  humour  in  this  turning  of  the 
tables  upon  the  stem  father  who  had  so  often  snubbed 
young  Sheridan,  and  who  must  have  regarded,  one  would 
suppose,  his  present  impotence  and  the  sublime  superi- 
ority of  the  new  proprietor  of  Betsey  with  anything  but 
pleasant  feelings.  Altogether  the  attitude  of  the  group 
is  very  instructive  in  view  of  the  changes  of  public 
opinion  on  this  point.  The  most  arbitrary  husband  now- 
a-days  would  think  it  expedient  at  least  to  associate  his 
wife's  name  with  his  own  in  any  such  refusal ;  but  the 
proprietorship  was  undoubting  in  Sheridan's  day.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  Dr.  Johnson  highly  applauded  the 
young  gentleman's  spirit  and  resolution  in  this  point. 


48  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [uhap. 

However,  though  she  had  so  soon  become  Betsey  and 
his  property,  so  far  as  business  was  concerned,  the  cottage 
at  East  Burnham  among  the  beech  trees  and  roses,  still 
contained  a  tender  pair  of  lovers;  and  Silvio  still  ad- 
dressed to  Deha  the  sweetest  compliments  in  verse.  AYhen 
he  is  absent  he  appeals  to  Hymen  to  find  some  thing  for 
him  to  do  to  make  the  hours  pass  when  away  from  her. 

"  Alas  !  thou  hast  no  wings,  oh  Time, 
It  was  some  thoughtless  lover's  rhyme, 
AVlio,  ^VTiting  in  his  Chloe's  view, 
Paid  her  the  compliment  through  you. 
For  had  he,  if  he  truly  lov'd, 
But  once  the  pangs  of  absence  prov'd. 
He'd  cropt  thy  wings,  and  in  their  stead 
Have  painted  thee  with  heels  of  lead." 

Thus  Betsey's  chains  were  gilded :  and  in  all  likelihood 
she  was  totally  unconscious  of  them,  never  having  been 
awakened  to  any  right  of  womankind  beyond  that  of 
being  loved  and  flattered.  The  verse  is  not  of  very  high 
quality,  but  the  sentiment  is  charming,  and  entii^ely  ap- 
propriate to  the  position. 

"  For  me  who,  when  I'm  happy,  owe 
No  thanks  to  fortune  that  I'm  so. 
Who  long  have  learn'd  to  look  at  one 
Dear  object,  and  at  one  alone. 
For  all  the  joy  and  all  the  sorrow, 
That  gilds  the  day  or  threats  the  morrow. 
I  never  felt  thy  footsteps  light 
But  when  sweet  love  did  aid  thy  flight. 
And  banished  from  his  blest  dominion, 
I  car  d  not  for  thy  borrowed  pinion. 

True,  she  is  mine  ;  and  since  she's  mine 

At  trifles  I  should  not  repine  ; 

But  oh  !  the  miser's  real  pleasure 

Is  not  in  knowing  he  has  treasiu-e  ; 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  49 

lie  must  behold  his  goklen  store, 
And  feel  and  count  his  riches  o'er. 
Thus  I  of  one  dear  gem  possest, 
And  in  that  treasure  only  blest, 
There  every  day  would  seek  delight, 
And  clasp  the  casket  every  night." 

The  condition  of  the  young  pair  in  any  reasonable 
point  of  view  at  this  beginning  of  their  life  was  as  little 
hopeful  as  can  be  conceived.  The  three  thousand  pounds 
left  to  Miss  Linley  by  Mr.  Long  was  their  sole  fortune,  if 
it  still  remained  intact.  The  wife  was  rendered  help- 
less by  the  husband's  grand  prohibition  of  her  exertions, 
and  he  himself  had  nothing  to  do,  nor  knew  how  to  do 
anything :  for  even  to  literature,  that  invariable  refuge, 
he  scarcely  seems  as  yet  to  have  turned  his  eyes  with  any 
serious  intent.  The  manner  in  which  they  plunged  into 
life,  however,  is  characteristic.  AVhen  winter  made  their 
Bumham  cottage  undesirable,  and  the  time  of  honey- 
mooning was  well  over,  they  went  to  town  to  live  with 
the  composer  Storace,  where  no  doubt  Betsey's  talent  was 
largely  exercised,  though  not  in  public,  and  probably 
helped  to  make  friends  for  the  young  pair :  for  we  hear 
of  them  next  year  as  pajdng  visits  among  other  places 
at  the  house  of  Canning;  and  in  the  winter  of  1774 
they  established  themselves  in  Orchard  Street,  Portman 
Square,  in  a  house  of  their  own,  furnished,  an  anony- 
mous biographer  says,  "in  the  most  costly  style,"  at  the 
expense  of  Linley,  with  perhaps  some  contribution 
from  that  inexhaustible  three  thousand  pounds. 

"  His  house  was  open,"  says  this  historian,  "  for  the  re- 
ception of  guests  of  quality  attracted  by  his  wit,  the  superior 
accomplishments  of  his  wife,  and  the  elegance  of  his  enter- 

S 


50  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tainments.  His  dinners  were  upon  the  most  expensive  scale, 
his  wines  of  the  finest  quality  :  while  Mrs.  Sheridan's  soirees 
were  remarkable  not  more  for  their  brilliance  than  the  gay 
groups  of  the  most  beautiful,  accomplished,  and  titled  lady 
visitants  of  the  Court  of  St.  James,  Mrs.  Sheridan's  routs 
were  the  great  attraction  of  the  season.  A  friend — a  warm 
and  sincere  friend — remonstrating  with  Sheridan  on  the  in- 
stability of  his  means  of  supporting  such  a  costly  establish- 
ment, he  tersely  replied,  '  My  dear  friend,  it  is  my  means.' " 

Such  a  description  will  be  taken  for  what  it  is  worth, 
but  there  seems  internal  evidence  that  the  anecdote  with 
which  it  concludes  might  have  been  true.  And  certainly 
for  a  young  man  beginning  the  arduous  occupation  of 
living  on  his  wits,  a  pretty  house  and  prettier  wife  and 
good  music  would  form  an  excellent  stock-in-trade,  and 
the  new  home  itself  being  entirely  beyond  any  visible 
means  they  had,  every  other  prodigality  would  be  compre- 
hensible. By  this  time  he  had  begun  the  composition 
of  a  play,  and  considered  himself  on  the  eve  of  publish- 
ing a  book,  which,  he  "  thinks,  will  do  me  some  credit," 
as  he  informs  his  father-in-law,  but  which  has  never 
been  heard  of  from  that  time  to  this,  so  far  as  appears. 
Another  piece  of  information  contained  in  the  letter  in 
which  this  apocryphal  work  is  announced,  shows  for  the 
first  time  a  better  prospect  for  the  young  adventurer. 
He  adds,  "There  will  be  a  comedy  of  mine  in  rehearsal 
at  Oovent  Garden  within  a  few  days." 

"  I  have  done  it  at  Mr.  Harris's  (the  manager's)  own  request : 
it  is  now  complete  in  his  hands,  and  preparing  for  the  stage. 
He  and  some  of  his  friends  also  who  have  heard  it  assure  me 
in  the  most  flattering  terms  that  there  is  not  a  doubt  of  its  suc- 
cess. It  "will  be  very  well  played,  and  Harris  tells  me  that  the 
least  shilling  I  shall  get  (if  it  succeeds)  will  be  six  hundred 
pounds.     I  shall  make  no  secret  of  it  towards  the  time  of 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  51 

representation,  that  it  may  not  lose  any  support  my  friends 
can  give  it.  I  had  not  written  a  line  of  it  two  months  ago, 
except  a  scene  or  two,  which  I  believe  you  have  seen  in  an 
odd  act  of  a  little  farce." 

This  was  the  Eivals,  which  was  performed  at  Covent 
Garden  on  the  17th  January  1775 — nearly  three  years 
after  his  marriage.  How  he  existed  in  the  meantime, 
and  made  friends  and  kept  up  his  London  house,  is  left 
to  the  imagination.  Probably  it  was  done  upon  that 
famous  three  thousand  pounds,  which  appears,  Uke  the 
Avidow's  cruse,  to  answer  all  demands. 

The  Pdvals  was  not  successful  the  first  night,  and  the 
hopes  of  the  young  dramatist  must  have  met  with  a 
terrible  check;  but  the  substitution  of  one  actor  for 
another  in  the  part  of  Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger,  and  such 
emendations  as  practical  sense  suggested  as  soon  as  it 
had  been  put  on  the  stage,  secured  for  it  one  continued 
triumph  ever  after.  It  is  now  more  than  a  century 
since  critical  London  watched  the  new  comedy,  and  the 
hearts  of  the  Linleys  thrilled  from  London  to  Bath,  and 
old  Thomas  Sheridan,  still  unreconciled  to  his  son,  came 
silent  and  sarcastic  to  the  theatre  to  see  what  the  young 
good-for-nothing  had  made  of  it;  but  the  world  has 
never  changed  its  opinion.  \Vhat  a  moment  for  Betsey 
in  the  house  where  she  had  everything  that  heart  of 
woman  could  desire  except  the  knowledge  that  all  was 
honest  and  paid  for — a  luxury  which  outdoes  all  the  rest ! 
and  for  her  husband,  standing  in  the  Avings  watching  his 
father's  face,  whom  he  dared  not  go  and  speak  to,  and 
knowing  that  his  whole  future  hung  in  the  balance,  and 
that  in  case  of  success  all  his  follies  would  be  justified ! 
"  But  now  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  its  success,"  cries 


52  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap, 

little  Miss  Linley  from  Bath,  in  a  flutter  of  excitement, 
"  as  it  has  certainly  got  through  more  difficulties  than 
any  comedy  which  has  not  met  its  doom  the  first  night." 
The  Linleys  were  convinced  in  their  own  minds  that  it 
was  Mrs.  Sheridan  who  had  written  "  the  much  admired 
epilogue."  "How  I  long  to  read  it!"  cries  the  little 
sister.  "  What  makes  it  more  certain  is  that  my  father 
guessed  it  was  yours  the  first  time  he  saw  it  praised  in 
the  paper."  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  the  guess 
was  true,  but  it  is  a  pretty  exhibition  of  family  feeling. 

The  Rivals,  to  the  ordinary  spectator  who,  looking  on 
with  uncritical  pleasure  at  the  progress  of  that  episode  of 
mimic  life,  in  which  everybody's  remarks  are  full  of  such 
a  quintessence  of  wit  as  only  a  very  few  remarkable  per- 
sons are  able  to  emulate  in  actual  existence,  accepts  the 
piece  for  the  sake  of  these  and  other  qualities — is  so  little 
like  a  transcript  from  any  actual  conditions  of  humanity 
that  to  consider  it  as  studied  from  the  life  would  be 
absurd,  and  we  receive  these  creations  of  fancy  as  belong- 
ing to  a  world  entirely  apart  from  the  real.  But  the 
reader  who  has  accompanied  Sheridan  through  the 
previous  chapter  of  his  history  will  be  inclined,  on 
the  contrary,  to  feel  that  the  young  dramatist  has 
but  selected  a  few  incidents  from  the  still  more  curious 
comedy  of  life  in  which  he  himself  had  so  recently 
been  one  of  the  actors,  and  in  which  elopements, 
duels,  secret  correspondences,  and  all  the  rest  of  the 
simple -artificial  round,  were  the  order  of  the  day. 
Whether  he  drew  his  characters  from  the  life  it  is  need- 
less to  inquire,  or  if  there  was  an  actual  prototype  for  Mrs. 
Malaprop.  Nothing,  however,  in  imagination  is  so  highly 
fantastical  as  reality  ;  and  it  is  very  likely  that  some  two 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  53 

or  three  ladies  of  much  pretension  and  gentihty  flourished 
upon  the  parade  and  frequented  the  pump-room,  from 
whose  conversation  her  immortal  parts  of  speech  were 
appropriated  :  but  this  is  of  very  little  importance  in  com- 
parison with  the  delightful  success  of  the  result.  The 
Rivals  is  no  such  picture  of  life  in  Bath  as  that  which,  half 
a  century  later,  in  altered  times,  which  yet  were  full  of 
humours  of  their  own.  Miss  Austen  made  for  us  in  all  the 
modest  flutter  of  youthful  life  and  hopes.  Sheridan's 
brilliant  dramatic  sketch  is  slight  in  comparison,  though 
far  more  instantly  efi'ective,  and  with  a  concentration  in 
its  sharp  efi'ects  which  the  stage  requires.  But  yet,  no 
doubt,  in  the  bustle  and  hurry  of  the  successive  arrivals, 
in  the  eager  brushing  up  of  the  countryman  new-launched 
on  such  a  scene,  and  the  aspect  of  the  idle  yet  bustling 
society,  all  agog  for  excitement  and  pleasure,  the  brisk 
little  holiday  city  was  delightfully  recognisable  in  the 
eyes  of  those  to  whom  "the  Bath "  represented  all  those 
vacation  rambles  and  excursions  over  the  world  which 
amuse  our  leisure  now.  Scarcely  ever  was  play  so  full 
of  liveliness  and  interest  constructed  upon  a  slighter 
machinery.  The  Eivals  of  the  title,  by  means  of  the  most 
simple  yet  amusing  of  mystifications,  are  one  person.  The 
gallant  young  lover,  who  is  little  more  than  the  conven-.. 
tional  type  of  that  well-worn  character,  but  a  manly  and 
lively  one,  has  introduced  himself  to  the  romantic  heroine 
in  the  character  of  Ensign  Beverley,  a  poor  young  subal- 
tern, instead  of  his  own  much  more  eligible  personality  as 
the  heir  of  Sir  Anthony  Absolute,  a  baronet  with  four 
thousand  a  year :  and  has  gained  the  heart  of  the  senti- 
mental Lydia,  who  prefers  love  in  a  cottage  to  the  finest 
settlements,  and  looks  forward  to  an  elopement  and  the 


54  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

loss  of  a  great  part  of  her  fortune  with  delight :  when  his 
plans  are  suddenly  confounded  by  the  arrival  of  his  father 
on  the  scene,  bent  on  marrying  him  forthwith  in  his  own 
character  to  the  same  lady.  Thus  he  is  at  the  same  time 
the  romantic  and  adored  Beverley,  and  the  detested 
Captain  Absolute  in  her  eyes ;  and  how  to  reconcile  her 
to  marrying  peaceably  and  with  the  approval  of  all  her 
belongings,  instead  of  clandestinely  and  with  all  the 
6clat  of  a  secret  running  away,  is  the  problem.  This, 
however,  is  solved  precipitately  by  the  expedient  of  a 
duel  with  the  third  rival,  Bob  Acres,  which  shows  the 
fair  Lydia  that  the  safety  of  her  Beverley,  even  if  accom- 
panied by  the  congratulations  of  friends  and  a  humdrum 
marriage,  is  the  one  thing  to  be  desired.  Thus  the  whole 
action  of  the  piece  turns  upon  a  mystification,  which 
affords  some  delightfully  comic  scenes,  but  few  of  those 
occasions  of  suspense  and  uncertainty  which  give  interest 
to  the  drama.  This  we  find  in  the  brisk  and  delightful 
movement  of  the  piece,  in  the  broad  but  most  amusing 
sketches  of  character,  and  the  unfailing  wit  and  sparkle 
of  the  dialogue.  In  fact  we  believe  that  many  an  audi- 
ence has  enjoyed  the  play,  and,  what  is  more  wonderful, 
many  a  reader  laughed  over  it  in  private,  without  any 
clear  realisation  of  the  story  at  all,  so  completely  do 
Sir  Anthony's  fits  of  temper,  and  Mrs.  Malaprop's  fine 
language  and  stately  presence,  and  the  swagger  of  Bol) 
Acres,  occupy  and  amuse  us.  Even  Faulkland,  the 
jealous  and  doubting,  who  invents  a  new  misery  for  him- 
self at  every  word,  and  finds  an  occasion  for  wretched- 
ness even  in  the  smiles  of  his  mistress,  which  are  always 
either  too  cold  or  too  warm  for  him,  is  so  laughable  in 
his  starts  aside  at  every  new  suggestion  of  jealous  fancy,' 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  65 

that  we  forgive  him  not  only  a  great  deal  of  fine  lan- 
guage, but  the  still  greater  drawback  of  having  nothing 
to  do  wath  the  action  of  the  piece  at  all. 

Mrs.  Malaprop's  ingenious  "derangement  of  epitaphs" 
is  her  chief  distinction  to  the  popular  critic ;  and  even 
though  such  a  great  competitor  as  Dogberry  has  occu- 
pied the  ground  before  her,  these  delightful  absurd- 
ities have  never  been  surpassed.  But  justice  has 
hardly  been  done  to  the  individual  character  of  this 
admirable  if  broad  sketch  of  a  personage  quite  familiar 
in  such  scenes  as  that  which  Bath  presented  a  cen- 
tury ago,  the  plQ,usiWe^wen£b_red^jvoinanj  with  a  great 
deal  of  vanity,  and  no  small  share  of  good-nature,  whose 
inversion  of  phrases  is  quite  representative  of  the  blurred 
realisation  she  has  of  surrounding  circumstances,  and  who 
is  quite  sincerely  puzzled  by  the  discovery  that  she  is  not  so 
well  qualified  to  enact  the  character  of  Delia  as  her  niece 
would  be.  Mrs.  Malaprop  has  none  of  the  harshness  of 
Mrs.  Hardcastle  in  She  Stoops  to  Conquer^  and  we  take  it 
unkind  of  Captain  Absolute  to  call  her  "  a  weatherbeaten 
she-dragon."  The  complacent  nod  of  her  head,  the  smirk 
on  her  face,  her  delightful  self-satisfaction  and  confidence 
in  her  "  parts  of  speech,"  have  nothing  repulsive  in  them. 
No  doubt  she  imposed  upon  Bob  Acres ;  and  could 
Catherine  Morland  and  Mrs.  Allen  have  seen  her  face 
and  heard  her  talk,  these  ladies  would,  we  feel  sure,  have 
been  awed  by  her  presence.  And  she  is  not  unkind  to 
Lydia,  though  the  minx  deserves  it,  and  has  no  desire  to 
appropriate  her  fortune.  She  smiles  upon  us  still  in 
many  a  watering-place — large,  gracious,  proud  of  her  con- 
versational powers,  always  a  delightful  figure  to  meet 
with,  and  filling  the  shopkeeping  ladies  with  admiration. 


X 


56  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Sir  Anthony,  though  so  amusing  on  the  stage,  is  more 
conventional,  since  we  know  he  must  get  angry  presently 
whenever  we  meet  with  him,  although  his  coming  round 
again  is  equally  certain  :  but  Mrs.  Malaprop  is  never 
quite  to  be  calculated  upon,  and  is  always  capable  of 
a  new  simile  as  captivating  as  that  of  the  immortal 
"allegory  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile." 

The  other  characters,  though  full  of  brilliant  talk, 
cleverness,  and  folly,  have  less  originality.  The  country 
hobbledehoy,  matured  into  a  dandy  and  braggart  By" 
his  entrance  into  the  intoxicating  excitement  of  Bath 
society,  is_cQniical4fi-4he-4iighest  degree  ;  birdie  is  not 
characteristically  human.  While  Mrs.  Malaprop  can 
hold  her  ground  with  Dogberry,  Bob  Acres  is  not  fit  to 
be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  the  "  exquisite 
reasons  "  of  that  delightful  knight,  Sir  Andrew  Ague- 
cheek.  And  thus  it  becomes  at  once  apparent  that 
Sheridan's  eye  for  a  situation,  and  the  details  that 
make  up  a  striking  combination  on  tlic  stage,  was  far 
more  remarkable  than  his  insight  into  human  motives 
and  action.  There  is  no  scene  on  the  stage  which  re- 
tains its  power  of  amusing  an  ordinary  audience  more 
brilliantly  than  that  of  the  proposed  duel,  where  the 
wittiest  of  boobies  confesses  to  feeling  his  valour  ooze, 
out  at  his  finger  ends,  and  the  fire-eating  Sir  Lucius 
promises,  to  console  him,  that  he  shall  be  pickled  and 
sent  home  to  rest  with  his  fathers,  if  not  content  with 
the  snug  lying  in  the  abbey.  The  two  men  are  little 
more  than  symbols  of  the  slightest  description,  but  their 
dialogue  is  instinct  with  wit,  and  that  fun,  the  most 
English  of  qualities,  which  does  not  reach  the  height  of 
humour,    yet   overwhelms   even   gravity   itself   with   a 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  57 

laughter  in  which  there  is  no  sting  or  bitterness.  J\Io- 
h^re  sometimes  attains  this  effect,  but  rarely,  having  too 
much  meaning  in  him ;  but  ^^^th  Shakespeare  it  is  fre- 
quent among  higher  things.  And  in  Shendan^this  gift  of 
innocent  ridicule  and  quick  embodiment  of  the  ludicrous 
without  malice  or  arrihre-pensee  reaches  to  such  heights 
of  excellence  as  have  given  his  nonsense  a  sort  of  im- 
mortality. 

It  is,  however,  difficult  to  go  far  in  discussion  or 
analysis  of  a  literary  production  which  attempts  no 
deeper  investigation  into  human  nature  than  this, 
Sheridan's  art^  from  its  very  beginning,  was  theatrical, 
if  we  may  use  the  word,  rather  than  dramatic.  It  aimed 
at  strong  situations  and  highly  effective  scenes  rather 
than  at  a  finely  constructed  story,  or  the  working  out  of 
either  plot  or  passion.  There  is  nothing  to  be  dis- 
covered in  it  by  the  student,  as  in  those  loftier  dramas 
which  deal  with  the  higher  qualities  and  developments 
of  the  human  spirit.  It  is  possible  to  excite  a  very 
warm  controversy  in  almost  any  company  of  ordinarily 
educated  people  at  any  moment  upon  the  character  of 
Hamlet.  .And  criticism  will  always  find  another  word 
to  say  even  upon  the  less  profound  but  delightful  myste- 
ries of  such  a  poetical  creation  as  Eosalind,  all  glowing 
with  ever-varied  life  and  love  and  fancy.  But  the  lighter 
drama  with  which  we  have  now  to  deal  hides  no  depths 
under  its  brilliant  surface.  The  pretty  fantastical  Lydia, 
with  her  romances,  her  impatience  of  ordinary  life,  her  hot 
little  spark  of  temper,  was  new  to  the  stage,  and  when 
she  finds  a  fitting  representative  can  be  made  delightful 
upon  it :  but  there  is  nothing  further  to  find  out  about 
her.     The  art  is  charming,  the  figures  full  of  vivacity, 


58  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

the  touch  that  sets  them  before  us  exquisite :  except 
indeed  in  the  Faulkland  scenes,  probably  intended  as  a 
foil  for  the  brilliancy  of  the  others,  in  which  Julia's  mag- 
nificent phrases  are  too  much  for  us,  and  make  us  deeply 
grateful  to  Sheridan  for  the  discrimination  which  kept 
him — save  in  one  appalling  instance — from  the  serious 
drama.  But  there  are  no  depths  to  be  sounded,  and  no 
suggestions  to  be  carried  out.  While,  however,  its  merits 
as  literature  are  thus  lessened,  its  attractions  as  a  play  are 
increased.  There  never  was  a  comedy  more  dear  to  actors, 
as  there  never  was  one  more  popular  on  the  stage.  The 
even  balance  of  its  characters,  the  equality  of  the  parts, 
scarcely  one  of  them  being  quite  insignificant,  and  each 
afi'ording  scope  enough  for  a  good  player  to  show  what  is 
in  him,  must  make  it  always  popular  in  the  profession. 
It  is,  from  the  same  reason,  the  delight  of  amateurs. 

Moore  quotes  from  an  old  copy  of  the  play,  a  humor- 
ous dedication  written  by  Tickell,  Sheridan's  brother-in- 
law,  to  Indolence.  "  There  is  a  propriety  in  prefixing 
your  name  to  a  work  begun  entirely  at  jonr  suggestion 
and  finished  under  your  auspices,"  Tickell  says;  and 
notwithstanding  his  biographer's  attempt  to  prove  that 
Sheridan  polished  all  he  wrote  with  extreme  care,  and 
cast  and  recast  his  literary  efi'orts,  there  is  an  air  of  ease 
and  lightness  in  his  earlier  work  which  makes  the  dedi- 
cation sufficiently  appropriate.  It  must  have  amused  his 
own  fancy  while  he  wrote,  as  it  has  amused  his  audience 
ever  since.  It  is  the  one  blossom  of  production  which 
had  yet  appeared  in  so  many  easy  years.  A  wide  margin 
of  leisure,  of  pleasure,  of  facile  life,  extends  around  it 
It  was  done  quickly  it  appears  when  once  undertaken — a 
pleasing  variety  upon  the  featureless  course  of  months 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  59 

and  years.  The  preface  which  Sheridan  himself  pre- 
fixed to  the  play  when  printed,  justifies  itself  on  the 
score  that  "  the  success  of  the  piece  has  probably  been 
founded  on  a  circumstance  which  the  author  is  informed 
has  not  before  attended  a  theatrical  trial." 

"  I  need  scarcely  add  that  the  circumstance  alluded  to  Avas 
the  AA^thdrawing  of  the  piece  to  remove  these  imperfections 
in  the  first  representation  which  were  too  obvious  to  escape 
reprehension,  and  too  numerous  to  admit  of  a  hasty  correction. 
...  It  were  unnecessary  to  enter  into  any  further  extenua- 
tion of  what  was  thought  exceptionable  in  this  play,  but  that 
it  has  been  said  that  the  managers  felTOuld  have  prevented 
some  of  the  defects  before  its  appearance  to  the  public — and, 
in  particular,  the  imcommon  length  of  the  piece  as  represented 
the  first  night.  It  were  an  ill  return  for  the  most  liberal  and 
gentlemanly  conduct  on  their  side  to  suffer  any  censure  to  rest 
where  none  was  deserved.  Hurry  in  \AT?iting  has  long  been 
exploded  as  an  excuse  for  an  author  ;  however,  in  the  dra- 
matic line,  it  may  happen  that  both  an  author  and  a  manager 
may  wish  to  fill  a  chasm  in  the  entertainment  of  the  public 
with  a  hastiness  not  altogether  culpable.  The  season  was 
advanced  when  I  first  put  the  play  into  Mr.  Harris's  hands  ; 
it  was  at  that  time  at  least  double  the  length  of  any  acting 
comedy,  I  profited  by  his  judgment  and  experience  in  the 
curtailing  of  it,  till  I  believe  his  feeling  for  the  vanity  of  a 
young  author  got  the  better  of  his  desire  for  correctness,  and 
he  left  so  many  excrescences  remaining  because  he  had  assisted 
in  pruning  so  many  more.  Hence,  though  I  was  not  unin- 
formed that  the  acts  were  still  too  long,  I  flattered  myself  that 
after  the  first  trial  I  might  with  safer  judgment  proceed  to 
remove  what  should  appear  to  have  been  most  dissatisfactory." 

These  were,  it  is  true,  days  of  leisure,  when  nothing 
was  pushed  and  hurried  on  as  now.  But  it  would  require, 
one  would  think,  no  little  firmness  and  courage  on  the 
part  of  a  young  author  to  risk  the  emendation  of  errors 
so  serious  after  an  unfavourable  first-night,  and  a  great 


60  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

confidence  on  the  part  of  the  manager  to  permit  such 
an  experiment.  But  there  are  some  men  who  impress 
all  around  them  with  such  a  certainty  of  power  and 
success,  that  even  managers  dare,  and  publishers  volun- 
teer, in  their  favour.  Sheridan  was  evidently  one  of 
these  men.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  triumph  about 
him.  He  had  carried  off  his  siren  from  all  competi- 
tors ;  he  had  defied  all  inducements  to  give  her  up  to 
public  hearing  after ;  he  had  flown  in  the  face  of  pru- 
dence and  every  frugal  tradition.  And  so  far  as  an  easy 
and  happy  life  went,  he  was  apparently  succeeding  in 
that  attempt.  So  he  was  allowed  to  take  his  unsuc- 
i  cessful  comedy  off  the  stage,  and  trim  it  into  his  own 
y  guise  of  triumph.  We  are  not  told  how  long  the  interval 
\^  was,  which  would  have  been  instructive  (the  anonymous 
biographer  says  "a  few  days").  It  was  produced  in 
January,  however,  and  a  month  later  we  hear  of  it  in  pre- 
paration at  Bath,  where  its  success  was  extraordinary. 
The  same  witness,  whom  we  have  just  quoted,  adds,  "that 
Sheridan's  prospective  six  hundred  pounds  was  more  than 
doubled  by  its  success  and  the  liberality  of  the  manager." 
He  had  thus  entered  fidly  upon  his  career  as  a  drama- 
tist. In  the  same  year  he  wrote — in  gratitude,  it  is 
said,  to  the  Irish  actor  who  had  saved  the  Rivals  by  his 
felicitous  representation  of  Sir  Lucius — the  farce  called  St 
Patricks  Bay  ;  or^  the  Scheming  Lieutenant,  a  very  slight 
production,  founded  on  the  tricks  so  familiar  to  comedy, 
of  a  lover's  ingenuity  to  get  entrance  into  the  house  of 
his  mistress.  The  few  opening  sentences,  which  are 
entirely  characteristic  of  Sheridan,  are  almost  the  best 
part  of  the  production :  they  are  spoken  by  a  party  of 
soldiers  coming  with  a  complaint  to  their  officer. 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  61 

"  Is^  Sol.  I  say,  you  are  wrong  ;  we  should  all  speak  to- 
gether, each  for  himself,  and  all  at  once,  that  we  may  be 
heard  the  better. 

2d  Sol.   Right,  Jack  ;  we'll  argue  in  platoons. 

3d  Sol.  Ay,  ay,  let  him  have  our  grievances  in  a  volley," 

The  lieutenant,  whose  suit  is  scorned  by  the  parents 
of  his  Lauretta,  contrives  by  the  aid  of  a  certain  Dr. 
Kosy,  a  comic,  but  not  very  comic,  somewhat  long-winded 
personage,  to  get  into  the  house  of  Justice  Credulous, 
her  father,  as  a  servant :  but  is  discovered  and  turned 
out.  He  then  writes  a  letter  asserting  that,  in  his 
first  disguise,  he  has  given  the  Justice  poison,  an  asser- 
tion which  is  met  with  perfect  faith ;  upon  which 
he  comes  in  again  as  the  famous  quack  doctor,  so 
familiar  to  us  in  the  pages  of  Moli^re.  In  this  case 
the  quack  is  a  German,  speaking  only  a  barbarous 
jargon,  but  he  speedily  cures  the  Justice  on  condition  of 
receiving  the  hand  of  his  daughter.  "  Did  he  say  all  that 
in  so  few  words,"  cried  Justice  Credulous,  when  one  of 
the  stranger's  utterances  is  explained  to  him.  "  What  a 
fine  language  it  is  !" — just  as  M.  Jourdain  delightedly 
acknowledged  the  eloquence  of  la  langue  Turque,  which 
could  express  tant  de  choses  dans  un  seid  mot.  The  Scheming 
Lieutenant  still  keeps  its  ground  among  Sheridan's  works, 
bound  up  between  the  Rivals  and  the  School  for  Scandal^ 
a  position  in  which  one  cannot  help  feeling  it  must  be 
much  astonished  to  find  itself. 

In  the  end  of  the  year  the  opera  of  the  Duenna  was 
also  produced  at  Covent  Garden.  The  praise  and  imme- 
diate appreciation  with  which  it  was  received  were  still 
greater  than  those  that  hailed  the  Rivals.  "The  run  of 
this  opera  has,  I  believe,  no  parallel  in  the  annals  of  the 


62  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAK  [chap. 

drama,"  says  Moore,  speaking  in  days  when  the  theatre 
had  other  rules  than  those  known  among  ourselves. 
"  Sixty-three  nights  was  the  career  of  the  Beggar'' s  Opera ; 
but  the  Duenna  was  acted  no  less  than  seventy-five  times 
during  the  season,"  and  the  enthusiasm  which  itcalledforth 
was  general.  It  was  pronounced  better  than  the  Beggar' & 
Opera^  up  to  that  time  acknowledged  to  be  the  first  and 
finest  production  of  the  never  very  successful  school  of 
English  opera.  Opera  at  all  was  as  yet  an  exotic  in  Eng- 
land, and  the  public  still  resented  the  importation  of  Italian 
music  and  Italian  singers  to  give  it  utterance,  and  fondly 
clung  to  the  idea  of  being  able  to  produce  as  good  or  better 
at  home.  The  Duenna  was  a  joint  work  in  which  Sheridan 
was  glad  to  associate  with  himself  his  father-in-law,  Lin- 
ley,  whose  airs  to  the  songs,  which  were  plentifully  intro- 
duced— and  which  gave  its  name  to  what  is  in  reality  a 
short  comedy  on  the  lines  of  Moliere,  interspersed  with 
songs,  and  not  an  opera  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word 
at  all — were  much  commended  at  the  time.  The  little 
lyrics  which  are  put  indiscriminately  into  the  mouths  of 
the  different  personages  are  often  extremely  pretty ;  but 
few  people  in  these  days  have  heard  them  sung,  though 
lines  from  the  verses  are  still  familiar  enough  to  our  ears 
in  the  way  of  quotation.  The  story  of  the  piece  belongs 
to  the  same  easy  artificial  inspiration  which  dictated  the 
trivial  plot  of  ^S'^.  Patrick's  Day,  and  of  so  many  others.  It 
is  "  mainly  founded,"  says  Moore,  "  upon  an  incident  bor- 
rowed from  the  Country  TFifeoi  Wycherley,"  but  it  seems 
hardly  necessary  to  seek  a  parent  for  so  hanal  a  contriv- 
ance. The  father,  with  whom  we  are  all  so  familiar,  has 
to  be  tricked  out  of  his  daughter  by  one  of  the  mono- 
tonous lovers  with  whom  we  are  more  familiar  still ;  but 


11.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  63 

instead  of  waiting  till  her  gallant  shall  invent  a  plan  for 
this  purpose,  the  lady  cuts  the  knot  herself  by  the  help 
of  her  duenna,  who  has  no  objection  to  marry  the  rich 
Jew  whom  Louisa  abhors,  and  who  remains  in  the  garb 
of  her  young  mistress,  while  the  latter  escapes  in  the 
duenna's  hood  and  veil.  The  Portuguese  Isaac  from 
whom  the  lady  flies  is  a  crafty  simpleton,  and  when  he 
finds  the  old  duenna  waiting  for  him  under  the  name  of 
Louisa  (whom  her  father,  for  the  convenience  of  the  plot, 
has  vowed  never  to  see  till  she  is  married),  he  accepts  her, 
though  much  startled  by  her  venerable  and  unlovely  ap- 
pearance, as  the  beautiful  creature  who  has  been  promised 
to  him,  with  only  the  rueful  reflection  to  himself,  "  How 
blind  some  parents  are ! "  and  as  she  explains  that  she 
also  has  made  a  vow  never  to  accept  a  husband  from  her 
father's  hands,  carries  her  off',  as  she  suggests,  with  much 
simplicity  and  the  astute  reflection,  "  If  I  take  her  at  her 
word  I  secure  her  fortune  and  avoid  making  any  settle- 
ment in  return."  In  the  meantime  two  pairs  of  interest- 
ing lovers,  Louisa  and  her  Antonio,  her  brother  Ferdi- 
nand and  his  Clara,  are  wandering  about  in  various 
disguises,  ^Wth  a  few  quarrels  and  reconciliations,  and  a 
great  many  songs,  which  they  pause  to  sing  at  the  most 
inappropriate  moments,  after  the  fashion  of  opera.  In 
order  to  be  married — which  all  are  anxious  to  be — Isaac 
and  one  of  the  young  gallants  go  to  a  "neighbouring 
monastery,"  such  establishments  being  delightfully  handy 
in  Seville,  where  the  scene  is  laid ;  and  the  hot  Protest- 
antism of  the  audience  is  delighted  by  an  ecclesiastical 
interior,  in  which  "Father  Paul,  Father  Francis,  and 
other  friars  are  discovered  at  a  table  drinking,"  singing 
convivial  songs,  and  promising  to  remember  their  peni- 


64  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tents  in  their  cups,  which  will  do  quite  as  much  good  as 
masses.  Father  Paul  is  the  supposed  ascetic  of  the 
party,  and  comes  forward  when  called  with  a  glass  of 
wine  in  his  hand,  chiding  them  for  having  disturbed  his 
devotions.  The  three  couples  are  then  married  by 
this  worthy  functionary,  and  the  whole  ends  with  a 
scene  at  the  house  of  the  father,  when  the  trick  is 
revealed  to  him,  and  amid  general  blessings  and  for- 
giveness the  Jew  discovers  that  he  has  married  the 
penniless  duenna  instead  of  the  lady  with  a  fortune, 
whom  he  has  helped  to  deceive  himself  as  well  as  her 
father.  The  duenna,  who  has  been,  like  all  the  old 
ladies  in  these  plays,  the  subject  of  a  great  many  un- 
mannerly remarks, — when  an  old  woman  is  concerned, 
Sheridan's  fine  gentlemen  always  forget  their  manners, — 
is  revealed  in  all  her  poverty  and  ugliness  beside  the 
pretty  young  ladies ;  and  Isaac's  conceit  and  admiration 
of  himself,  "  a  sly  little  villain,  a  cunning  dog,"  etc.,  are 
unmercifully  laughed  at;  while  the  rest  of  the  party 
make  up  matters  with  the  easily  mollified  papa. 

Such  is  the  story :  there  is  very  little  character 
attempted,  save  in  Isaac,  who  is  a  sort  of  rudimentary 
sketch  of  a  too  cunning  knave  or  artful  simpleton  caught 
in  his  own  toils ;  and  the  dialogue,  if  sometimes  clever 
enough,  never  for  a  moment  reaches  the  sparkle  of  •  the 
llivals,  "  The  wit  of  the  dialogue,"  Moore  says — using 
that  clever  mist  of  words  with  which  an  experienced 
writer  hides  the  fact  that  he  can  find  nothing  to  say  on 
a  certain  subject — "except  in  one  or  two  instances,  is 
of  that  amusing  kind  which  lies  near  the  surface — which 
is  produced  without  effort,  and  may  be  enjoyed  without 
wonder."     If  this  means  that  there  is  nothing  at  all 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  66 

wonderful  about  it,  it  is  no  doubt  true  enough — though 
there  are  one  or  two  phrases  which  are  worth  preserving, 
such  as  that  in  which  the  Jew  is  described  as  being 
"  like  the  blank  leaves  between  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ment," since  he  is  a  convert  of  recent  date  and  no  very 
certain  faith. 

It  was,  however,  the  music  which  made  the  piece  popu- 
lar, and  the  songs  which  Sheridan  wrote  for  Linley's  set- 
ting were  many  of  them  prett}'',  and  all  neat  and  clever. 
Everybody  knows  "  Had  I  a  heart  for  falsehood  framed," 
which  is  sung  by  the  walking  gentleman  of  the  piece,  a 
certain  Don  Carlos,  who  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  take 
care  of  Louisa  during  her  wanderings,  and  to  sing  some 
of  the  prettiest  songs.  Perhaps  on  the  whole  this  is  the 
best : — 

''  Had  I  a  heart  for  falsehood  framed, 
I  ne'er  could  injure  you  ; 
"For  though  your  tongue  no  promise  claim'd 

Your  charms  would  make  me  true. 
To  you  no  soul  shall  bear  deceit. 

No  stranger  offer  wrong  ; 
But  friends  in  all  the  aged  you'll  meet. 
And  lovers  in  the  young. 

"  But  when  they  learn  that  you  have  blest 

Another  with  your  heart, 
They'll  bid  aspiring  passion  cease 

And  act  a  brother's  part. 
Then,  lady,  dread  not  here  deceit, 

Nor  fear  to  suffer  wrong  ; 
For  friends  in  all  the  aged  you'll  meet, 

And  lovers  in  the  young." 

The  part  of  Carlos  is  put  in  ^vith  Sheridan's  usual 
indifference  to  construction  for  the  sake  of  the  music, 
and  in  order  to  employ  a  certain  tenor  Avho  was  a  favourite 

F 


66  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

with  the  public,  there  being  no  possible  occasion  for  him 
so  far  as  the  dramatic  action  is  concerned. 

This  is  what  Byron,  nearly  half  a  century  after,  called 
"  the  best  opera  "  in  EngHsh,  and  which  was  lauded  to 
the  skies  in  its  day.  The  Beggar's  Opera,  with  which  it 
is  constantly  compared,  has,  however,  much  outlived  it 
in  the  general  knowledge,  if  the  galvanic  and  forced 
resurrection  given  by  an  occasional  performance  can  be 
called  life.  The  songs  are  sung  no  longer,  and  many 
who  quote  lines  like  the  well-known  "  Sure  such  a  pair 
were  never  seen,"  are  in  most  cases  totally  unaware  where 
they  come  from.  Posterity,  which  has  so  thoroughly 
carried  out  the  judgment  of  contemporaries  in  respect  to 
the  Rivals,  has  not  extended  its  favour  to  the  Duenna. 
Perhaps  the  attempt  to  conjoin  spoken  dialogue  to  any 
great  extent  with  music  is  never  a  very  successful 
attempt :  for  English  opera  does  not  seem  to  last.  Its 
success  is  momentary.  Musical  enthusiasts  care  little 
for  the  "words,"  auu.  not  even  so  much  for  melody  as 
might  be  desired ;  and  the  genuine  playgoer  is  impatient 
of  those  interruptions  to  the  action  of  a  piece  which  has 
any  pretence  at  dramatic  interest,  while  neither  of  the 
conjoint  Arts  do  their  best  in  such  a  formal  copartnery. 
Sheridan,  however,  spared  no  pains  to  make  the  partner- 
ship successful.  He  was  very  anxious  that  the  composer 
should  be  on  the  spot,  and  secure  that  his  compositions 
were  done  full  justice  to.  "Harris  is  extravagantly 
sanguine  of  its  success  as  to  plot  and  dialogue,"  he 
writes;  "they  will  exert  themselves  to  the  utmost  in 
the  scenery,  etc.,  but  I  never  saw  any  one  so  discon- 
certed as  he  was  at  the  idea  of  there  being  no  one  to  put 
them  in  the  right  way  as  to  music."     "Dearest  father," 


ri.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  67 

adds  Mrs.  Sheridan,  "  I  shall  have  no  spirits  or  hopes  of 
the  opera  unless  we  see  you."  The  young  dramatist, 
however,  had  his  ideas  as  to  the  music  as  well  as  the 
literary  portion  of  the  piece,  and  did  not  submit  himself 
blindly  to  his  father-in-law's  experience.  "The  first," 
he  says,  "  I  should  wish  to  be  a  pert  sprightly  air,  for 
though  some  of  the  words  mayn't  seem  suited  to  it,  I 
should  mention  that  they  are  neither  of  them  in  earnest 
in  what  they  say :  Leoni  (Carlos)  takes  it  up  seriously, 
and  I  want  him  to  show  advantageously  in  the  six  lines 
beginning,  '  Gentle  Maid.'  I  should  tell  you  that  he 
sings  nothing  well  but  in  a  plaintive  or  pastoral  style, 
and  his  voice  is  such  as  appears  to  me  always  to  be  hurt 
by  much  accompaniment.  I  have  observed,  too,  that  he 
never  gets  so  much  applause  as  when  he  makes  a  cadence. 
Therefore  my  idea  is  that  he  should  make  a  flourish  at 
'Shall  I  grieve  you.'"  These  instructions  show  how 
warmly  Sheridan  at  this  period  of  his  life  interested 
himself  in  every  detail  of  his  theatrical  work.  Linley, 
it  is  said,  had  the  good  sense  to  follow  these  directions 
implicitly. 

The  success  of  the  Duenna  at  Covent  Garden  put 
Garrick  and  his  company  at  the  rival  theatre  on  their 
mettle  ;  and  it  was  wittily  said  that  "  the  old  woman 
would  be  the  death  of  the  old  man."  Garrick  chose  the 
moment  when  her  son  was  proving  so  dangerous  a  rival 
to  him  to  resuscitate  Mrs.  Sheridan's  play  called  the 
Discovery y  in  which  he  himself  played  the  chief  part — a 
proceeding  which  does  not  look  very  friendly :  and  as 
Thomas  Sheridan  had  been  put  forth  by  his  enemies  as 
the  great  actor's  rival,  it  might  well  be  that  there  was  no 
very  kind  feeling  between  them.     But  the  next  chapter 


68  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  L^hap 

in  young  Sheridan's  life  shows  Garrick  in  so  benevolent 
a  light  that  it  is  evident  his  animosity  to  the  father,  if 
it  existed,  had  no  influence  on  his  conduct  to  the  son. 
Garrick  was  now  very  near  the  close  of  his  career :  and 
when  it  was  understood  that  he  meant  not  only  to  retire 
from  the  stage,  but  to  resign  his  connection  with  the 
theatre  altogether,  a  great  commotion  arose  in  the 
theatrical  world.  These  were  the  days  of  patents,  when 
the  two  great  theatres  held  a  sort  of  monopoly,  and  were 
safe  from  all  rivalship  except  that  of  each  other.  It  was 
at  the  end  of  the  year  1775  that  Garrick's  intention  of 
"selling  his  moiety  of  the  patent  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre" 
became  known  :  and  Eichard  Sheridan  was  then  in  the 
early  flush  of  his  success,  crowding  the  rival  theatre, 
and  promising  a  great  succession  of  brilliant  work  to 
come.  But  it  could  scarcely  be  supposed  that  a  young 
man  just  emerging  out  of  obscurity — rich,  indeed,  in 
his  first  gains,  and  no  doubt  seeing  before  him  a  great 
f  utui^e,  but  yet  absolutely  destitute  of  capital — could  have 
been  audacious  enough,  without  some  special  encourage- 
ment, to  think  of  acquiring  this  great  but  precarious 
property,  and  launching  himself  upon  such  a  venture. 
How  he  came  to  think  of  it  we  are  left  uninformed, 
but  the  first  whisper  of  the  chance  seems  to  have 
inflamed  his  mind ;  and  Garrick,  whether  or  not  he 
actually  helped  him  with  money,  as  some  say,  was  at 
all  events  favourable  to  him  from  the  beginning  of 
the  negotiations.  He  had  promised  that  the  refusal 
should  first  be  oflfered  to  Colman ;  but  when  Colman,  as 
he  expected,  declined,  it  was  the  penniless  young  drama- 
tist whom  of  all  competitors  the  old  actor  preferred. 
Sheridan  had  a  certain  amount  of  backing,  though  not 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  60 

enough,  as  far  as  would  appear,  to  lessen  the  extraordi- 
nary daring  of  the  venture — his  father-in-law,  Linley, 
who  it  is  to  be  supposed  had  in  his  long  career  laid  up 
some  money,  taking  part  in  the  speculation  along  with  a 
certain  Dr.  Ford  :  but  both  in  subordination  to  the  young 
man  who  had  no  money  at  all.  Here  are  Sheridan's  ex- 
planations of  the  matter  addressed  to  his  father-in-law  : — 

"According  to  his  (Garrick's)  demand,  the  whole  is  valued 
at  .£70,000.  He  appears  very  shy  of  letting  his  books  be 
looked  into  as  the  test  of  the  profits  on  this  sum,  but  says  it 
must  be  on  its  nature  a  purchase  on  speculation.  However, 
he  has  promised  me  a  rough  estimate  of  his  own  of  the  entire 
receipts  for  the  last  seven  years.  But  after  all  it  must  cer- 
tainly be  a  purchase  on  speculation  without  money's  worth 
having  been  made  out.  One  point  he  solemnly  avers,  which 
is  that  he  will  never  part  with  it  under  the  price  above- 
mentioned.  This  is  all  I  can  say  on  the  subject  until 
Wednesday,  though  I  can't  help  adding  that  I  think  we  might 
safely  give  £5000  more  on  this  purchase  than  richer  people. 
The  whole  valued  at  £70,000,  the  annual  interest  is  £3500  ; 
while  this  is  cleared  the  proprietors  are  safe.  But  I  think  it 
must  be  infernal  management  indeed  that  does  not  double  it." 

A  few  days  later  the  matter  assumes  a  definite  shape. 

"  Garrick  was  extremely  explicit,  and  in  short  we  came  to 
a  final  resolution  ;  so  that  if  the  necessary  matters  are  made 
out  to  all  our  satisfactions,  we  may  sign  and  seal  a  previous 
engagement  within  a  fortnight. 

"  I  meet  him  again  to-morrow  evening,  when  we  are  to 
name  a  day  for  a  conveyancer  on  our  side  to  meet  his  solicitor, 
Wallace.  I  have  pitched  on  a  Mr.  Phipps,  at  the  recom- 
mendation and  by  the  advice  of  Dr.  Ford.  The  three  first 
steps  to  be  taken  are  these, — our  lawyer  is  to  look  into  the 
titles,  tenures,  etc.,  of  the  house  and  adjoining  estate,  the 
extent  and  limitations  of  the  patent,  etc.  ;  we  shall  then 
employ  a  builder  (I  think  ^M^r.  Collins)  to  survey  the  state 
and  repair  in  which  the  whole  premises  are,  to  which  Mr.  G. 


70  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

entirely  consents  ;  Mr.  G.  will  then  give  us  a  fair  and  attested 
estimate  from  Ms  books  of  what  the  profits  have  been,  at  an 
average,  for  these  last  seven  years.  This  he  has  shown  me 
in  rough,  and,  valuing  the  property  at  .£70,000,  the  interest 
has  exceeded  ten  per  cent. 

"  We  should  after  this  certainly  make  an  interest  to  get 
the  king's  promise  that  while  the  theatre  is  well  conducted, 
etc.,  he  will  grant  no  patent  for  a  third,  though  G.  seems 
confident  he  never  wiU.  If  there  is  any  truth  in  professions 
and  appearances,  G.  seems  likely  always  to  continue  our 
friend  and  to  give  every  assistance  in  his  power. 

"  The  method  of  our  sharing  the  purchase,  I  should  think, 
maybe  thus— Ew^art  to  take  £10,000,  you  £10,000,  and  I 
£10,000.  Dr.  Ford  agrees  with  the  greatest  pleasure  to 
embark  the  other  £5000  ;  and,  if  you  do  not  choose  to  venture 
so  much,  Mdll,  I  daresay,  share  it  with  you.  Ewart  is  pre- 
paring his  money,  and  I  have  a  certainty  of  my  part.  We 
sliall  have  a  very  useful  ally  in  Dr.  Ford,  and  my  father 
offers  his  services  on  our  own  terms.  We  cannot  unite 
Garrick  to  our  interests  too  firmly  ;  and  I  am  convinced  his 
influence  will  bring  Leasy  to  our  terms,  if  he  should  be  ill- 
advised  enough  to  desire  to  interfere  in  what  he  is  totally 
unqualified  for." 

Ewart  was  the  ever-faithful  friend  to  whose  house  in 
London  Sheridan  had  taken  Miss  Linley,  whose  son  had 
been  his  second  in  the  affair  with  Captain  Matthews, — 
a  man  upon  whose  support  the  Sheridan  family  could 
always  rely.  But  the  soui'ce  from  which  young  Richard 
himself  got  the  money  for  his  own  share  remains  a 
mystery,  of  which  no  one  has  yet  found  the  solution. 
"  Not  even  to  Mr.  Linley,"  says  Moore,  "  while  entering 
into  all  other  details,  does  he  hint  at  the  fountainhead 
from  which  the  supply  is  to  come,"  and  he  adds  a  few 
somewhat  commonplace  reflections  as  to  the  manner 
in  which  all  Sheridan's  successes  had  as  yet  been 
obtained. 


II.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  71 

"  There  -svas,  indeed,  something  niysteiious  and  miraculous 
about  all  his  acquisitions,  whether  in  love,  in  learning,  in  wit, 
or  in  wealth.  How  or  when  his  stock  of  knowledge  was  laid 
in  nobody  knew  i  it  was  as  much  a  matter  of  marvel  to  those 
who  never  saw  him  read  as  the  mode  of  existence  of  the 
chameleon  has  been  to  those  who  fancied  it  never  eat.  His 
advances  in  the  heart  of  his  mistress  were,  as  we  have  seen, 
equally  trackless  and  inaudible,  and  his  triumph  was  the  first 
tliat  even  his  rivals  knew  of  his  love.  In  like  nianner  the 
productions  of  his  wit  took  the  M'orld  by  surprise,  being  per- 
fected in  secret  till  ready  for  display,  and  then  seeming  to 
break  from  under  the  cloud  of  his  indolence  in  full  maturity 
of  splendour.  His  financial  resources  had  no  less  an  air  of 
magic  about  them  :  and  the  mode  by  which  he  conjured  up 
at  this  time  the  money  for  his  first  purchase  into  the  theatre 
remains,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  still  a  mystery." 


These  remarks  are  somewhat  foolish,  to  say  the  least, 
since  the  mystery  attending  the  sudden  successes  of  a 
young  man  of  genius  is  sufificiently  explained  as  soon 
as  his  possession  of  that  incommunicable  quality  has 
once  been  established  :  and  the  triumph  of  a  brilliant 
youth  whose  fascinating  talk  and  social  attractions  were 
one  of  the  features  of  his  age,  over  his  commonplace 
rivals  in  the  heart  of  a  susceptible  girl  does  not  even 
require  genius  to  explain  it.  But  neither  genius  itself 
nor  all  the  personal  fascination  in  the  world  can,  alas  ! 
produce  when  it  is  w^anted,  ten  thousand  pounds.  The 
anonymous  author  of  Sheridan  and  Bis  Times  asserts 
confidently  that  Garrick  himself  advanced  the  money, 
having  conceived  a  great  friendship  for  Sheridan,  and 
formed  a  strong  opinion  as  to  his  capacity  to  increase 
the  reputation  and  success  of  the  theatre.  Of  this  state- 
ment, however,  no  proof  is  ofTered,  and  Moore  evidently 
gives  no  credence  to  such  a  suggestion,  though  he  notices 


72  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

that  it  had  been  made.  The  money  was  procured  by 
some  friendly  help,  no  doubt.  There  were,  as  has  been 
said,  only  the  two  great  theatres  in  these  days,  none  of 
the  later  crop  having  as  yet  sprung  up,  and  each  being 
under  the  protection  of  a  patent ;  the  speculation  there- 
fore was  not  so  hazardous  as  it  has  proved  to  be  since. 
It  is,  however,  besides  the  mystery  about  the  money,  a 
most  curious  transformation  to  see  the  young  idler, 
lover,  and  man  of  pleasure,  suddenly  placed  at  the  head 
of  such  an  undertaking,  with  so  much  responsibility 
upon  his  shoulders,  and — accustomed  only  to  the  shift- 
less and  hand-to-mouth  living  of  extravagant  poverty — 
become  at  once  the  administrator  of  a  considerable 
revenue,  and  the  head  of  a  little  community  dependent 
upon  him.  He  had  done  nothing  all  his  life  except,  in  a 
fit  of  inspiration  of  very  recent  date,  produce  a  couple  of 
plays.  But  it  does  not  seem  that  any  doubt  of  his 
powers  crossed  his  mind  or  that  of  any  of  his  associates. 
"Do  not  flag  when  we  come  to  the  point,"  he  says  to  his 
father-in-law;  "I'll  answer  for  it  we  shall  see  many 
golden  campaigns." 

The  stir  and  quickening  of  new  energy  is  apparent  in 
all  he  writes.  The  circumstances  were  such  as  might 
well  quicken  the  steadiest  pulse,  for  not  only  was  he 
likely  to  lay  a  foundation  of  fortune  for  himself  (and  his 
first  child  had  lately  been  born, — "  a  very  magnificent 
fellow  !  "),  but  his  nearest  connections  on  both  sides  were 
involved,  and  likely  to  owe  additional  comfort  and  im- 
portance to  the  young  prodigal  whose  own  father  had 
disowned  him,  and  his  wife's  received  him  with  the 
greatest  reluctance,  —  a  reflection  which  could  not 
but   be   sweet.      With   such   hopes    in    his    mind  the 


fi.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  73 

sobriety   and    composure   with    which    he   writes    are 
astonishing. 

"  Leasy  is  utterly  unequal  to  any  department  in  the  theatre. 
He  has  an  opinion  of  me,  and  is  very  willing  to  let  the  whole 
burden  and  ostensibility  be  taken  off  his  shoulders.  But  I 
certainly  should  not  give  up  my  time  and  labour  (for  his 
superior  advantage,  having  so  much  greater  a  share)  with- 
out some  conclusive  advantage.  Yet  I  should  by  no  means 
make  the  demand  till  I  had  showTi  myself  equal  to  the 
task.  My  father  purposes  to  be  with  us  but  one  year  : 
and  that  only  to  give  us  what  advantage  he  can  from  his 
experience.  He  certainly  must  be  paid  for  his  trouble,  and 
so  certainly  must  you.  You  have  experience  and  character 
equal  to  the  line  you  would  undertake,  and  it  never  can 
enter  into  anybody's  head  that  you  were  to  give  your  time, 
or  any  part  of  your  attention,  gratis  because  you  had  a  share 
in  the  theatre.  I  have  spoken  on  the  subject  both  to  Gar- 
rick  and  Leasy,  and  you  will  find  no  demur  on  any  side  to 
your  gaining  a  certain  income  from  the  theatre,  greater  I 
think  than  you  could  make  out  of  it,  and  in  this  the  theatre 
would  be  acting  only  for  its  own  advantage." 

The  other  shareholder  who  held  the  half  of  the  pro- 
perty— while  Sheridan,  Linley,  and  Ford  divided  the 
other  half  between  them — was  a  Mr.  Lacy  :  and  there 
seems  a  charming  possibility  of  some  reminiscence  of  the 
brogue,  though  Sheridan  probably  had  never  been  touched 
by  it  in  his  ovm  person,  having  left  Ireland  as  a  child — 
in  the  mis-spelling  of  the  name.  It  is  impossible  not  to 
sympathise  with  him  in  the  delightful  consciousness  of 
having  proved  the  futility  of  all  objections,  and  become 
the  aid  and  hope,  instead  of  the  detriment  and  burden, 
of  both  families,  which  must  have  sweetened  his  own 
brilliant  prospects.  His  father  evidently  was  now  fully 
reconciled  and  sympathetic,  proud  of  his  son,  and  dis- 
posed (though  not  without  a  consideration)  to  give  him 


74  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [uhap. 

the  benefit  of  his  experience  and  advice;  andLinley  was 
to  have  the  chance  of  an  income  from  the  theatre  "greater 
than  he  could  make  out  of  it."  With  what  sweet  moist- 
ure the  eyes  of  the  silenced  Diva  at  home,  the  St.  Cecilia 
whose  mouth  her  young  husband's  adoring  pride  had 
stopped,  must  have  glistened  to  think  that  her  father, 
who  had  done  all  he  could  to  keep  her  Sheridan  at 
arm's  length,  was  now  to  have  his  fortune  made  by  that 
injured  and  unappreciated  hero  !  She  had  other  causes 
for  happiness  and  glory,  "Your  grandson,"  Sheridan 
adds  in  the  same  letter  to  Linley,  "  astonishes  everybody 
by  his  vivacity,  his  talents  for  music  and  poetry,  and 
the  most  perfect  integrity  of  mind."  Everything  was 
now  brilliant  and  hopeful  about  the  young  pair.  The 
only  drawback  was  the  uneasiness  of  Sheridan's  position 
until  the  business  should  be  finally  settled,  between 
the  two  theatres.  "My  confidential  connection  with 
the  other  house,"  he  says,  "is  peculiarly  distressing  till 
I  can  with  prudence  reveal  my  situation,  and  such  a 
treaty,  however  prudently  managed,  cannot  long  be  kept 
secret." 

The  matter  was  settled  early  in  the  year  1776, 
Sheridan  being  then  twenty-five.  Before  the  end  of 
the  year  troubles  arose  with  Lacy,  and  it  would  seem 
that  Sheridan  took  the  strong  step  of  retiring  from  the 
managership  and  carrying  the  actors  along  with  liim, 
leaving  the  other  perplexed  and  feeble  proprietor  to  do 
the  best  he  could  with  such  materials  as  he  could  pick 
up.  All  quarrels,  however,  were  soon  made  up,  and 
afi'airs  proceeded  amicably  for  some  time  :  but  Sheridan 
eventually  bought  Lacy  out  at  a  further  expenditure  of 
£45,000,  partly  obtained,  it  would  appear,  from  Gar- 


ri.]  HIS  FIRST  DRAMATIC  WORKS.  76 

rick,  partly  by  other  means.  The  narrative  is  not  very 
clear,  nor  is  it  very  important  to  know  what  squabbles 
might  convulse  the  theatre,  or  how  the  friends  of  Lacy 
might  characterise  the  "conceited  young  man,"  who 
showed  no  inclination  to  consult  a  colleague  of  so  dif- 
ferent a  calibre  from  himself.  But  it  seems  to  be  agreed 
on  all  sides  that  the  beginning  of  Sheridan's  reign  at 
Drury  was  not  very  prosperous.  Though  he  had  shown 
so  much  energy  in  his  financial  arrangements  at  the 
beginning,  it  was  not  easy  to  get  over  the  habits  of  all 
his  previous  life,  and  work  with  the  steadiness  and  regu- 
larity of  a  man  of  business,  as  was  needful.  There  was 
an  interval  of  dulness  which  did  not  carry  out  the  hopes 
very  naturally  formed  when  the  young  dramatist  who  had 
twice  filled  the  rival  theatre  with  eager  crowds  and 
applauses  came  to  the  head  of  affairs.  Garrick,  who  had  so 
long  been  its  chief  attraction,  was. gone  ;  and  it  was  a  new 
group  of  actors  unfamiliar  to  him  with  whom  the  new 
manager  had  to  do.  He  remodelled  for  them  a  play 
of  Vanburgh's,  which  he  called  a  Trip  to  Scarhoroiigh, 
but  which,  notwithstanding  all  he  did  to  it,  remained  still 
the  production  of  an  earlier  age,  wanting  in  the  refine- 
ment and  comparative  purity  which  Sheridan  himself 
had  already  done  so  much  to  make  popular.  The  Miss 
Hoyden,  the  rustic  lady  whom  Lord  Foppington  is 
destined  to  marry,  but  does  not,  is  a  creature  of  the 
species  of  Tony  Lumpkin,  though  infinitely  less  clever 
and  shrewd  than  that  delightful  lout,  and  has  no  sort  of 
kindred  with  the  pretty  gentlewoman  of  Sheridan's 
natural  period.  And  the  public  were  not  specially 
attracted  by  this  rkhavffi.  In  fact,  after  all  the  excite- 
ment and  wonderful  novelty  of  this  astonishing  launch 


76  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.       [chap.  ii. 

into  life,  the  reaction  was  great  and  discouraging.  Old 
stock  pieces  of  a  repertory  of  which  Garrick  had  been 
the  soul, — new  contrivances  of  pantomime  "  expected  to 
draw  all  the  human  race  to  Drury,"  and  which  were  ren- 
dered absolutely  necessary  "  on  account  of  a  marvellous 
preparation  of  the  kind  which  is  making  at  Covent 
Garden," — must  have  fallen  rather  fiat  both  upon  the 
mind  of  the  manager,  still  new  and  inexperienced  in  his 
office,  and  of  the  public,  which  no  doubt  at  the  hands  of 
the  author  of  the  Rivals,  and  with  the  songs  of  the 
Duenna  still  tingling  in  its  ears,  expected  great  things. ' 
But  this  pause  was  only  the  reculer  your  mieux  sauter 
which  precedes  a  great  effort ;  for  early  in  the  next  year 
Sheridan  rose  to  the  full  height  of  his  genius,  and  the 
School  for  Scandal  blazed  forth,  a  great  Jupiter  among 
the  minor  starlights  of  the  drama,  throwing  the  rival 
house  and  all  its  preparations  altogether  into  the  shade. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    "  SCHOOL   FOR   SCANDAL." 

It  was  clear  that  a  great  effort  was  required  for  the 
advantage  of  Drury  Lane,  to  make  up  for  the  blow  of 
Garrick's  withdrawal,  and  to  justify  the  hopes  founded 
upon  the  new  management;  and  Mr.  Lacy  and  the 
public  had  both  reason  to  wonder  that  the  head  which 
had  filled  Covent  Garden  from  pit  to  gallery  should  do 
nothing  for  the  house  in  which  all  his  hopes  of  fortune 
were  involved.  No  doubt  the  cares  of  management  and 
administration  were  heavy,  and  the  previous  training  of 
Sheridan  had  not  been  such  as  to  qualify  him  for  con- 
tinuous labour  of  any  kind ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  was 
not  unnatural  that  his  partners  in  the  undertaking  should 
have  grumbled  at  the  long  interval  which  elapsed  before 
he  entered  the  lists  in  his  own  person.  It  was  May  1777, 
more  than  a  year  after  his  entry  upon  the  proprietorshi}p 
of  Drury  Lane,  when  the  School  for  Scandal  was  produced^ 
and  then  it  was  hurried  into  the  hands  of  the  performers 
piecemeal  before  it  was  finished,  the  last  act  finding  its  way 
to  the  theatre  five  days  before  the  final  production.  The 
manuscript,  Moore  informs  us,  was  issued  forth  in  shreds 
and  patches,  there  being  but  "  one  rough  draft  of  the  last 


78  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

five  scenes  scribbled  upon  detached  pieces  of  paper :  while 
of  all  the  preceding  acts  there  are  numerous  transcripts 
scattered  promiscuously  through  six  or  seven  books, 
with  new  interlineations  and  memoranda  to  each.  On 
the  last  leaf  of  all,  which  exists,  just  as  we  may  suppose 
it  to  have  been  despatched  by  him  to  the  copyist,"  Moore 
adds,  "there  is  the  following  curious  specimen  of  a 
doxology,  written  hastily  in  the  handwriting  of  the  respec- 
tive parties,  at  the  bottom  : — 

*  Finished  at  last ;  thank  God  ! 

'  R.  B.  Sheridan. 

*  Amen ! 

»W.  Hawkins.'" 

The  bearer  of  the  latter  name  was  the  prompter,  and 
there  is  a  whole  history  of  hurry  and  anxiety  and 
confusion,  a  company  disorganised,  and  an  unhappy 
functionary  at  the  end  of  his  powers,  in  this  devout 
exclamation.  It  is  bad  enough  to  keep  the  press  waiting, 
but  a  dozen  or  so  of  actors  arrested  in  their  study,  and 
the  whole  business  of  the  theatre  depending  upon  the 
time  at  which  a  man  of  fashion  got  home  from  an  enter- 
tainment, or  saw  his  guests  depart  in  the  grey  of  the 
morning,  is  chaos  indeed.  "We  have  heard  him  say," 
writes  a  gossiping  commentator,  "  that  he  had  in  those 
early  days  stolen  from  his  bed  at  sunrise  to  prosecute  his 
literary  labours,  or  after  midnight,  when  his  visitors  had 
departed,  flown  to  his  desk,  and,  at  the  cost  of  a  bottle  of 
port,  sat  down  to  resume  the  work  which  the  previous 
morning  in  its  early  rising  had  da^vned  upon."  The 
hig:hly  polished  diction  of  the  School  for  Scandal^  and  the 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  79 

higli  pressure  of  its  keen  and  trenchant  wit,  does  not  look 
much  like  the  excited  work  of  the  small  hours  inspired  by 
port;  but  a  man  who  is  fully  launched  in  the  tide  of 
society,  and  sought  on  all  hands  to  give  brilliancy  to  the 
parties  of  his  patrons,  must  needs  "  steal  a  few  hours  from 
the  night."  "It  was  the  fate  of  Sheridan  through  life," 
Moore  says,  "  and  in  a  great  degree  his  policy,  to  gain 
credit  for  excessive  indolence  and  carelessness."  It  seems 
very  likely  that  he  has  here  hit  the  mark,  and  fur- 
nished an  explanation  for  many  of  the  apparently  head- 
long feats  of  composition  by  which  many  authors  are 
believed  to  have  distinguished  themselves.  There  is  no 
policy  which  tells  better.  It  is  not  merely  an  excuse  for 
minor  faults,  but  an  extraordinary  enhancement  in  the 
eyes  of  the  uninstructed,  of  merit  of  all  kinds.  To  be 
able  to  dash  off  in  a  moment,  at  a  sitting,  what  would  take 
the  laborious  plodder  a  week's  Avork,  is  a  kind  of  triumph 
which  is  delightful  both  to  the  performer  and  spectator ; 
and  many  besides  Sheridan  have  found  it  a  matter  of 
policy  to  keep  up  such  a  character.  The  anonymous 
biographer  whom  we  have  already  quoted  is  very  angiy 
with  Moore  for  attempting  to  show  that  Sheridan  did  not 
dash  off  his  best  w^ork  in  this  reckless  way,  but  studied 
every  combination,  and  sharpened  his  sword  by  repeated 
trials  of  its  edge  and  temper.  The  scientific  critic  has 
always  scorned  what  the  multitude  admire,  and  the 
fashion  of  our  own  age  has  so  far  changed  that  to  show 
an  elaborate  process  of  workmanship  for  any  piece  of 
literary  production,  and  if  possible  to  trace  its  lineage  to 
previous  works  and  well-defined  impulses  and  influences, 
is  now  the  favourite  object  of  the  biographer  and  com- 
mentator.      We    confess    a   leaning   to    the    primitive 


80  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

method,  and  a  preference  for  the  Minerva  springing  full 
armed  from  the  brain  of  Jove  to  the  goddesses  more 
gradually  developed  of  scientific  investigation. 

But  Moore's  account  of  the  growth  of  Sheridan's 
powers,  and  of  the  steps  by  which  he  ascended  to  the 
mastery  of  his  art,  are  interesting  and  instructive.  The 
Rivals  sprang  into  being  without  much  thought,  with  that 
instinctive  and  unerring  perception  of  the  right  points 
to  recollect  and  record,  which  makes  observation  the 
unconscious  instrument  of  genius,  and  is  so  immensely 
and  indescribably  different  from  mere  imitation.  But 
tlie  Scliool  for  Scandal — a  more  elaborate  performance  in 
every  way — required  a  different  handling.  It  seems  to 
have  floated  in  the  writer's  mind  from  the  moment  when 
he  discovered  his  own  powers,  stimulating  his  invention 
and  his  memory  at  once,  and  prompting  half-a-dozen 
beginnings  before  the  right  path  was  discovered.  Now 
it  is  one  story,  now  another,  that  attracts  his  fancy.  Ho 
will  enlist  those  gossiping  circles  which  he  feels  by 
instinct  to  be  so  serviceable  for  the  stage,  to  serve  the 
purpose  of  a  scheming  woman  and  separate  a  pair  of 
lovers.  Anon,  departing  from  that  idea,  he  will  employ 
them  to  bring  about  the  catastrophe  of  a  loveless  mar- 
riage, in  which  an  old  husband  and  a  young  wife,  the 
very  commonplaces  of  comedy,  shall  take  a  new  and 
original  development.  Two  distinct  stories  rise  in  his 
mind  like  two  butterflies  circling  about  each  other,  keep- 
ing him  for  a  long  time  undecided  which  is  the  best  for 
his  purpose.  The  first  plot  is  one  which  the  spectator 
has  now  a  little  difficulty  in  tracing  through  the  brilliant 
scenes  which  were  originally  intended  to  carry  it  out, 
though  it  is  distinctly  stated  in  the  first  scene  between 


rii.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOK  SCANDAL."  81 

Lady  Sneerwell  and  Snake  which  still  opens  the  comedy. 
As  it  now  stands  this  intimation  of  her  ladyship's  purpose 
is  far  too  important  for  anything  that  follows,  and  is  ai)t 
to  mystify  the  spectator,  who  finds  little  in  the  after 
scenes  to  justify  it — a  confusion  at  once  explained  when 
we  are  made  aware  that  this  was  the  original  motif  of  the 
entire  piece,  the  object  of  which  was  to  separate,  not 
Charles  Surface,  but  a  sentimental  hero  called  Clarimont, 
Florival,  and  other  pastoral  names,  from  the  Maria  whom 
he  loves,  and  who  is  the  ward,  niece,  or  even  step- 
daughter of  Lady  Sneerwell,  a  beautiful  widow  and 
leader  of  scandal,  who  loves  him.  But  while  the  author 
is  playing  with  this  plot,  and  designing  fragmentary 
scenes  in  which  to  carry  it  out,  the  other  is  tugging  at 
his  fancy — an  entirely  distinct  idea,  with  a  group  of  new 
and  individual  characters,  the  old  man  and  his  wife, 
the  two  contrasted  brothers,  one  of  whom  is  to  have 
the  reputation  of  being  her  lover,  while  the  other  is  the 
real-villain.  At  first  there  is  no  connection  whatever 
betw^een  the  two.  The  School  for  Scandal  proper  is  first 
tried.  Here  would  seem  to  be  the  first  suggestions  of  it, 
no  doubt  noted  down  at  a  venture  for  future  use  without 
any  very  definite  intention,  perhaps  after  a  morning's 
stroll  through  the  crowd  which  surrounded  the  waters  of 
the  Bath  with  so  many  bitternesses.  There  are  here, 
the  reader  wdll  perceive,  no  indications  of  character,  or 
even  names,  to  serve  as  symbols  for  the  Crabtrees  and 
Candours  to  come. 

"The  Slanderer.     A  Piimp-Room  Scene. 

Friendly  caution  to  the  newspapers. 

It  is  whispered 

G 


82  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

She  is  a  constant  attendant  at  church,  and  very  frequently 
takes  Dr.  M'Brawn  home  with  her. 

Mr.  Worthy  is  very  good  to  the  girl : — for  my  part  I 
dare  swear  he  has  no  ill  intention. 

What !  Major  Wesley's  Miss  Montague  ? 

Lud,  ma'am,  the  match  is  certainly  broke.  No  creature 
knows  the  cause  :  some  say  a  flaw  in  the  lady's  character, 
and  others  in  the  gentleman's  fortune. 

To  be  sure  they  do  say 


I  hate  to  repeat  what  I  hear 

She  was  inclined  to  be  a  little  too  plump  before  they 
went 

The  most  intrepid  blush.  I've  known  her  complexion 
stand  lire  for  an  hour  together." 

Whether  these  jottings  suggested  the  design,  or  were 
merely  seized  upon  by  that  faculty  of  appropriating 
"son  bien  ou  il  le  trouve,"  which  is  one  of  the  privileges 
of  genius,  it  is  impossible  to  tell ;  but  it  will  be  seen  that 
the  germ  of  all  the  highly-wrought  and  polished  scenes 
of  the  scandalous  college  is  in  them.  The  first  use  to 
which  they  were  put  is  soon  visible  in  the  scene  between 
Lady  Sneerwell  and  Snake  (called  Spatter  in  the  origi- 
nal) which  opened  the  uncompleted  play,  and  still  stands, 
though  with  much  less  significance,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  actual  one.  In  this  sketch  Crabtree  and  Sir  Benja- 
min Backbite  appear  as  parties  to  the  intrigue,  the  latter 
being  the  lover  of  Maria,  and  intended  to  embroil  her 
with  Clarimont,  who  is  no  gallant  rake  like  his  prototype 
in  the  existing  drama,  but  a  piece  of  perfection  highly 
superior  to  the  gossip, — "one  of  your  moral  fellows  .  .  . 
who  has  too  much  good  nature  to  say  a  witty  thing  himself, 
and  is  too  ill-natured  to  permit  it  in  others, "  and  who 
is  as  dull  as  virtue  of  this  abstract  type  is  usually  re- 
presented on  the  stage.     To  show  the  difference  in  the 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  83 

workmanship,  we  may  quote  the  only  portion  of  the  old 
sketch,  which  is  identical  in  meaning  with  the  perfected 
one.  Lady  Sneerwell  and  Spatter  are,  as  in  the  first 
version,  "  discovered  "  when  the  curtain  rises. 

"  Ladij  S.  The  paragraphs,  you  say,  were  all  inserted  ? 

Spat.   They  were,  madam. 

Lady  S.  Did  you  circulate  the  report  of  Lady  Brittle's 
intrigue  mth  Captain  Boastall  ? 

Spat.  Madam,  by  this  time  Lady  Brittle  is  the  talk  of 
half  the  town  :  and  in  a  week  will  be  treated  as  a  demirep. 

Lady  S.  What  have  you  done  as  to  the  innuendo  of  Miss 
Nicely^s  fondness  for  her  own  footman  ? 

Spat.  'Tis  in  a  fair  train,  ma'am.  I  told  it  to  my  hair- 
dresser ;  he  courts  a  milliner's  girl  in  Pall  Mall,  whose 
mistress  has  a  first  cousin  who  is  waiting-woman  to  Lady 
Clackit.  I  think  in  about  fourteen  hours  it  must  reach  Lady 
Clackit,  and  then  you  know  the  business  is  done. 

Lady  S.  But  is  that  sufficient,  do  you  think  ? 

Spat.  Oh,  Lud,  ma'am  !  I'll  undertake  to  ruin  the  char- 
acter of  the  primmest  prude  in  London  with  half  as  much. 
Ha,  ha  !  Did  your  ladyship  never  hear  how  poor  Miss 
Shepherd  lost  her  lover  and  her  character  last  summer  at 
Scarborough  ? — this  was  the  whole  of  it.  One  evening  at 
Lady 's  the  conversation  happened  to  turn  on  the  diffi- 
culty of  feeding  Nova  Scotia  sheep  in  England " 

The  reader  will  recoUect  the  story  about  the  sheep, 
which  is  produced  at  a  later  period  in  the  scene,  under  a 
different  name  in  the  actual  version,  as  are  Miss  Nicely 
and  her  footman.  To  show,  however,  the  improvement 
of  the  artist's  taste,  we  will  place  beside  the  less  perfect 
essay  we  have  just  quoted  the  scene  as  it  stands. 

"  Lady  Sneer.  The  paragraphs,  you  say,  Mr.  Snake,  were  al] 
inserted  ? 

Snake.  They  were,  madam  ;  and  as  I  copied  them  myself 
in  a  feigned  hand,  there  can  be  no  suspicion  whence  they 
came. 


84  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Lady  Sneer.  Did  you  circulate  the  report  of  Lady  Brittle's 
intrigue  with  Captain  Boastall  ? 

Snake.  That's  in  as  fine  a  train  as  your  ladyship  could 
wish.  In  the  common  course  of  things,  I  think  it  must 
reach  Mrs.  Clackitt's  ears  within  four-and-twenty  hours,  and 
then  you  know  the  business  is  as  good  as  done. 

Lady  Sneer.  Wliy,  truly  Mrs.  Clackitt  has  a  very  pretty 
talent,  and  a  great  deal  of  industry. 

Snake.  True,  madam,  and  has  been  tolerably  successful  in 
her  day.  To  my  knowledge  she  has  been  the  cause  of  six 
matches  being  broken  off,  and  three  sons  disinherited.  .  .  . 
Nay,  I  have  more  than  once  traced  her  causing  a  tete-d-tete  in 
The  Town  and  Country  Magazine,  when  the  parties  perhaps 
had  never  seen  each  other  before  in  the  course  of  their  lives. 

Ladi/  Sneer.  She  certainly  has  talents,  but  her  manner  is 
gross. 

Snake.  'Tis  very  true.  She  generally  designs  well,  has  a 
free  tongue,  and  a  bold  invention  ;  but  her  colouring  is  too 
dark,  and  her  outlines  often  extravagant.  She  wants  that 
delicacy  of  tint  and  mellowness  of  sneer  which  distinguisk 
your  ladyship's  scandal. 

Lady  Sneer.  You  are  partial.  Snake. 

Snake.  Not  in  the  least ;  everybody  allows  that  Lady 
Sneerwell  can  do  more  with  a  word  and  a  look  than  many 
can  with  the  most  laboured  detail,  even  when  they  happen  to 
have  a  little  truth  on  their  side  to  support  it." 

It  seems  needless  to  reproduce  the  dull  and  artificial 
scenes  which  Moore  quotes  by  way  of  showing  how  Sheri- 
dan floundered  through  the  mud  of  commonplace  before 
he  found  firm  footing  on  the  ground  where  he  achieved 
60  brilliant  a  success.  They  are  like  an  artist's  first 
experiments  in  design,  and  instructive  only  in  that  sense. 
Perhaps  it  was  in  the  despair  which  is  apt  to  seize  the 
imagination  when  a  young  ^vriter  finds  his  performance 
so  inadequate  to  express  his  idea,  that  Sheridan  threw 
the  whole  machinery  of  the  scandalous  circle  aside,  and 


rii.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  85 

betook  himself  to  the  construction  of  the  other  drama 
which  had  got  into  his  brain — the  story  of  old  Teazle 
and  his  young  wife,  and  of  the  brothers  Plausible  or 
Pliant,  or  half  a  dozen  names  beside,  as  the  fancy  of 
their  author  varies.  In  the  first  sketch,  our  friend  Sir 
Peter,  that  caustic  and  polished  gentleman,  is  Solomon 
Teazle,  a  retired  tradesman,  who  maunders  over  Margery 
his  first  Avife,  and  his  own  folly,  after  getting  rid  of 
her  in  encumbering  himself  mth  another :  but  after  a 
very  brief  interval,  this  beginning,  altogether  unsuitable 
to  the  writer's  tastes  and  capabilities,  changes  insensibly 
into  the  more  harmonious  conception  of  the  old  husband 
as  we  know  him.  The  shopkeeper  was  not  in  Sheridan's 
way.  Such  a  hohereau  as  Bob  Acres,  with  his  apings  of 
fashion,  might  come  within  his  limited  range ;  but  it  did 
not  extend  to  those  classes  which  lie  outside  of  society. 
Trip  and  Fag  and  their  fellows  were  strictly  within  this 
circle ;  they  are  as  witty  as  their  masters  in  the  hands 
of  the  dramatist,  and  rather  more  fine,  as  is  the  nature 
of  a  gentleman's  gentleman;  and  even  royalty  itself 
must  be  content  to  share  the  stage  with  these  indis- 
pensable ministers  and  copyists.  But  the  world  beyond 
was  at  all  times  a  sealed  book  to  this  historian  of 
fashionable  folly — and  he  was  wisely  inspired  in  thro^ang 
over  the  plebeian.  He  seems  very  speedily  to  have 
found  out  his  mistake,  for  nothing  more  is  heard  of 
Solomon ;  and  in  the  next  fragmentary  scene  the 
dramatist  glides  at  once  into  a  discussion  of  Lady 
Teazle's  extravagances,  in  which  we  have  a  great  deal 
of  unmeaning  detail,  all  cleared  away  like  magic  in  the 
existing  scene,  which  is  framed  upon  it,  yet  is  as  much 
superior  to  it  as  a  lively  and  amusing  altercation  can  be 


86  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

to  the  items  of  a  lengthy  account  interspersed  with 
mutual  recriminations.  It  would  appear,  however,  that 
the  Teazle  play  was  subsequent  to  the  Sneerwell  one,  for 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  pointed  and  brilliant  -^yiiting,  and 
much  that  is  retained  almost  without  change,  in  the  first 
adumbrations  of  the  great  scenes  with  Joseph  Surface. 
"So  then,"  says  Lady  Teazle  in  this  early  sketch,  "you 
would  have  me  sin  in  my  own  defence,  and  part  with  my 
virtue  to  preserve  my  reputation,"  an  epigrammatic  phrase 
which  is  retained  without  alteration  in  the  final  scene. 
Moore  tells  us  that  this  sentence  is  "written  in  every 
direction,  and  without  any  material  change  in  its  form, 
over  the  pages  of  his  different  memorandum  books."  It 
is  evident  that  it  had  caught  Sheridan's  fancy,  and  that 
he  had  favourite  phrases  as  some  people  have  favourite 
children,  produced  on  every  possible  occasion  and  always 
delighted  in. 

How  it  was  that  Sheridan  was  led  to  amalgamate 
these  two  plays  into  one,  we  are  left  altogether  without 
information.  Moore's  knowledge  seems  to  have  been 
drawn  entirely  from  the  papers  put  into  his  hands,  which 
probably  no  one  then  living  knew  much  about,  belong- 
ing as  they  did  to  the  early  career  of  a  man  who  had  lived 
to  be  old,  and  abandoned  altogether  the  walk  of  litera- 
ture, in  which  he  had  won  his  early  laurels.  He  sur- 
mises that  the  two -act  comedy  which  Sheridan  tells 
Linley  is  about  to  be  put  in  rehearsal  may  have  been 
the  Teazle  play :  but  this  is  mere  conjecture,  and  we 
can  only  suppose  that  Sheridan  had  found,  as  he  grew 
better  acquainted  with  the  requirements  of  the  stage, 
that  neither  of  the  plots  he  had  sketched  out  was  enough 
to  keep  the  interest  of  the  audience ;  and  that  in  the 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  87 

necessity  that  pressed  upon  him  for  something  to  fill  the 
stage  and  stop  the  months  of  his  new  company  and 
associates,  he  threw  the  U\x>  plots  together  by  a  sudden 
inspiration,  knitting  the  one  to  the  other  by  the  dazzling 
links  of  those  scandalous  scenes  which,  to  tell  the 
truth,  have  very  little  to  do  ^vith  either.  Whether  he 
transferred  these  bodily  from  an  already  poHshed  and 
completed  sketch,  working  them  into  the  materials 
needed  for  his  double  intrigue  with  as  little  alteration  of 
the  original  fabric  as  possible,  or  if  in  his  haste  and 
confidence  of  success  he  deliberately  refrained  from  con- 
necting them  "vvith  the  action  of  the  piece,  we  have  no 
way  of  telling.  4  The  daring  indifi'erence  which  he  shows 
to  that  supposed  infallible  rule  of  dramatic  composi- 
tion which  ordains  that  every  word  of  the  dialogue 
should  help  on  the  action,  is  edifying,  and  shows  how 
entirely  independent  of  rule  is  success.  At  the  same 
time  it  strikes  us  as  curious  that  Sheridan  did  not  find 
it  expedient  to  employ  the  evil  tongues  a  little  more 
upon  the  group  of  people  whose  fortunes  are  the  imme- 
diate subject  of  the  comedy.  For  instance,  there  is  no 
warrant  whatever  in  the  play  for  the  suspicion  of  Charles 
Surface  which  Sir  Peter  expresses  at  an  exciting  mo- 
ment. A  hint  of  his  character  and  impending  troubles 
is  indeed  given  us,  but  nothing  that  can  in  the  least  link 
his  name  ^vith  that  of  Lady  Teazle — which  seems  a  dis- 
tinct inadvertence  on  the  part  of  the  dramatist,  since  there 
might  have  been  an  admirable  opportunity  for  piquing 
our  curiosity  by  a  stance  of  the  scandalmongers  upon 
the  possible  relations  between  those  two  gay  prodigals. 

The   scandalous   scenes,  however   (save   the   last   of 
them),  are  almost  entirely  without  connection  ^Wth  the 


88  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

plot.  They  can  be  detached  and  enjoyed  separately 
without  any  sensible  loss  in  the  reader's  (or  even 
spectator's)  mind.  In  themselves  the  management 
of  all  the  details  is  inimitable.  The  eager  interchange 
takes  away  our  breath ;  there  is  no  break  or  possibility 
of  pause  in  it.  The  malign  suggestion,  the  candid  aston- 
ishment, the  spite  which  assails,  and  the  malicious  good- 
nature which  excuses,  are  all  balanced  to  perfection, 
with  a  spirit  which  never  flags  for  a  moment.  And 
when  the  veterans  in  the  art  are  joined  by  a  brilliant 
and  mischievous  recruit  in  the  shape  of  Lady  Teazle, 
rushing  in  among  them  in  pure  gaieU  du  cceur,  the  energy 
of  her  young  onslaught  outdoes  them  all.  The  talk  has 
never  been  so  brilliant,  never  so  pitiless,  as  when  she 
joins  them.  She  adds  the  gift  of  mimicry  to  all  their 
malice,  and  produces  a  genuine  laugh  even  from  those 
murderers  of  their  neighbours'  reputations.  This  is 
one  of  the  side-hghts,  perhaps  unintentional,  which 
keen  insight  throws  upon  human  nature,  showing  how 
mere  headlong  imitation  and  high  spirits,  and  the  deter- 
mination to  do  whatever  other  people  do,  and  a  little 
more,  go  further  than  the  most  mischievous  intention. 
Perhaps  the  author  falls  into  his  usual  fault  of  giving 
too  much  wit  and  point  to  the  utterances  of  the 
young  ^\iiQ,  who  is  not  intended  to  be  clever ;  but  her 
sudden  dash  into  the  midst  of  the  dowagers,  and  unex- 
pected victory  over  them  in  their  own  line,  is  full  of 
nature.  "  Very  well.  Lady  Teazle,  I  see  you  can  be  a 
little  severe,"  said  Lady  Sneerwell,  expressing  the  aston- 
ishment of  the  party ;  while  Mrs.  Candour  hastens  to 
welcome  Sir  Peter  on  his  arrival  with  her  habitual  com- 
plaint that  "they  have  been  so  censorious — and  Lady 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  89 

Teazle  as  bad  as  any  one."  The  slanderers  themselves 
are  taken  by  surprise,  and  the  indignation  and  horror  of 
the  husband  know  no  bounds.  There  is  no  more  suc- 
cessful touch  in  the  whole  composition. 

Apart  from  these  scenes,  the  construction  of  the  play 
shows  once  more  Sheridaii^s  astonishing  instinct  for  a 
striking  situation.  Two  such  will  immediately  occur  to 
the  mind  of  the  reader,  the  great  Screen  scene,  and  that 
in  v/hich  Charles  Surface  sells  his  family  portraits.  The 
first  is  incomparably  the  greater  of  the  two,  and  one 
which  has  rarely  been  equalled  on  the  stage.  The  suc- 
cession of  interviews,  one  after  another,  has  not  a  word 
too  much ;  nor  could  the  most  impatient  audience  find 
any  sameness  or  repetition  in  the  successive  arrivals,  each 
one  of  which  adds  an  embarrassment  to  the  dilemma 
of  Joseph  Surface,  and  helps  to  clear  up  those  of  his 
victims.  As  the  imbroglio  grows  before  our  eyes,  and 
every  door  of  escape  for  the  hypocrite  is  shut  up,  "with- 
out even  the  common  sentimental  error  of  awakening 
commiseration  for  him,  the  most  matter-of-fact  spectator 
can  scarcely  repress,  even  when  carried  along  by  the 
interest  of  the  story,  a  sensation  of  admiring  wonder  at 
the_skilLwith  wliich  all  these  combinations  are  effected. 
It  is  less  tragic  than  Tartuffe,  insomuch  as  Orgon's  pro- 
found belief,  and  the  darker  guilt  of  the  domestic  traitor, 
move  us  more  deeply ;  and  it  is  not  terrible  like  the  unveil- 
ing of  lago  ;  but  neither  is  it  trivial,  as  the  ordinary  dis- 
coveries of  deceitful  wives  and  friends  to  which  we  are 
accustomed  on  the  stage  so  generally  are ;  and  the  fine 
art  with  which  Sir  Peter,  something  of  an  old  cur- 
mudgeon in  the  earlier  scenes,  is  made  unexpectedly  to 
reveal  his  better  nature,  and  thus  prepare  the  way,  un- 


90  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

awares,  for  the  re-establishment  of  his  own  happiness  at 
the  moment  when  it  seems  entirely  shattered,  is  worthy  of 
the  highest  praise.  It  would  no  doubt  have  been  higher 
art  could  the  dramatist  have  deceived  his  audience  as 
well  as  the  personages  of  the  play,  and  made  us  also  par- 
ties in  the  surprise  of  the  discovery.  But  this  is  what 
no  one  has  as  yet  attempted,  not  even  Shakespeare,  and 
we  have  no  right  to  object  to  Sheridan  that  we  are  in 
the  secret  of  Joseph's  baseness  all  the  time,  just  as  we 
are  in  the  secret  of  Tartuffe's,  and  can  with  difficulty 
understand  how  it  is  that  he  deceives  any  one.  There 
remains  for  the  comedy  of  the  future  (or  the  tragedy, 
which,  wherever  the  deeper  chords  of  life  are  touched, 
comes  to  very  much  the  same  thing)  a  still  greater 
achievement — that  of  inventing  an  lago  who  shall  de- 
ceive the  audience  as  well  as  the  Othello  upon  whom  he 
plays,  and  be  found  out  only  by  us  and  our  hero  at  the 
same  moment.  Probably,  could  such  a  thing  be  done,  the 
effect  would  be  too  great,  and  the  indignation  and  horror 
of  the  crowd,  thus  skilfully  excited,  produce  a  sensation 
beyond  that  which  is  permissible  to  fiction.  But  Sheridan 
does  not  deal  with  any  tragical  powers.  Nothing  deeper 
is  within  his  reach  than  the  momentary  touch  of  real 
feeling  with  which  Lady  Teazle  vindicates  herself,  and 
proves  her  capacity  for  better  things.  The  gradual  de- 
velopment of  the  situation,  the  unwilling  agency  of  the 
deceiver  in  opening  the  eyes  and  touching  the  heart  of 
the  woman  he  hopes  to  seduce,  and  clearing  the  character 
of  the  brother  whom  he  desires  to  incriminate ;  the  con- 
fusion of  his  mind  as  one  after  another  so  many  danger- 
ous elements  come  together ;  the  chuckling  malice  of  the 
old  man,  eager,  half  to  exonerate  Joseph  from  the  charge 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  91 

of  austerity,  half  to  betray  his  secret,  little  suspecting 
how  nearly  his  own  credit  is  involved ;  the  stupefying 
dismay  of  the  disclosure ; — are  managed  with  the  most 
complete  success.  The  scene  is  in  itself  a  succinct  drama 
quite  comprehensible  even  when  detached  from  its  con- 
text, and  of  the  highest  effectiveness.  So  far  as  morals 
are  concerned,  it  is  as  harmless  as  any  equivocal  situa- 
tion can  be.  To  be  sure  the  suggestion  of  the  little 
milliner  is  no  more  savoury  than  the  presence  of  Lady 
Teazle  is  becoming  to  her  reputation  and  duty ;  but  the 
fitter  confusion  of  the  scheme,  and  the  admirable  and  un- 
expected turn  given  to  the  conclusion  by  her  genuine  per- 
ception of  her  folly  and  her  husband's  merit,  go  as  far  as 
is  possible  to  neutralise  all  that  is  amiss  in  it.  There  had 
been  a  temporary  doubt  as  to  whether  the  Bivals  would 
catch  the  public  fancy  :  there  was  none  at  all  about  this. 
^e  other  great  scene,  that  in  which  Charles  Surface 
sells  his  pictures,  has  qualities  of  a  different  kind.  It  is 
less  perfect  and  more  suggestiy€than  most  of  Sheridan's 
work.  We  have  to  accept  thte  favourite  type  of  the  stage 
hero — the  reckless,  thoughtless,  warmhearted,  impression- 
able spendthrift,  as  willing  to  give  as  he  is  averse  to  pay, 
scattering  his  wild  oats  by  handfuls,  wasting  his  life  and 
his  means  in  riotous  living,  yet  easily  touched  and  full  of 
kind  impulses — before  we  can  do  justice  to  it.  This  char- 
acter, whatever  moralists  may  say,  always  has,  and  probably 
always  \W11  retain  a  favoured  place  in  fiction.  Though 
we  know  very  well  that  in  real  life  dissipation  does  not 
keep  the  heart  soft  or  promote  gratitude  and  other 
generous  sentiments,  yet  we  are  still  willing  to  believe 
that  the  riotous  youth  whose  animal  spirits  carry  him 
away  into  devious  paths  is  at  bottom  better  than  the 


92  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap, 

demure  one  who  keeps  his  peccadilloes  out  of  sight  of  the 
world.  The  eighteenth  century  had  no  doubt  on  the 
subject,  Charles  Surface  is  the  lighthearted  prodigal 
whose  easy  vices  have  brought  him  to  the  point  of 
destruction.  Whatever  grave  thoughts  on  the  subject 
he  may  have  within,  he  is  resolute  in  carrying  out  his 
gay  career  to  the  end,  and  ready  to  laugh  in  the  face  of 
ruin.  A  more  severe  taste  might  consider  his  light- 
heartedness  swagger,  and  his  generosity  prodigality ; 
but  we  are  expected  on  the  stage  to  consider  such 
characteristics  as  far  more  frequently  conjoined  with 
a  good  heart  than  sobriety  and  decency.  The  reckless 
young  reprobate  at  the  lowest  ebb  of  his  fortune,  ready 
to  throw  away  anything  or  everything,  and  exposing 
himself  hopelessly  and  all  his  follies  to  the  rich  uncle 
who  has  come  to  test  him,  conciliates  our  good  opinion 
from  the  beginning  by  the  real  kindness  with  which 
he  protects  "little  Premium,"  the  supposed  money- 
lender, from  the  rude  pleasantries  of  his  boon  com- 
panions. The  touch  of  desperation  which  is  in  his 
gaiety  without  ever  finding  expression  in  words  enhances 
the  effect  of  Tiis  headlong  talk  and  wild  wit.  When  his 
companion  Careless,  to  whom  it  is  all  a  good  joke, 
complains — "  Charles,  I  haven't  a  hammer ;  and  what's 
an  auctioneer  without  a  hammer  f  the  master  of  the 
ruined  house  clutches  with  a  laugh  at  the  family 
pedigree,  firmly  and  tightly  encircling  its  roller,  and 
throws  that  to  him  :  "  Here,  Careless,  you  shall  have  no 
common  bit  of  mahogany ;  here's  the  family  tree  for 
you,  and  you  may  knock  down  my  ancestors  with  their 
o^vn  pedigree,"  he  cries.  Such  a  laugh  raises  echoes 
which  we  wonder  whether  Sheridan  contemplated  or  had 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  93 

any  thought  of.  As  the  prodigal  rattles  on  with  almost 
too  much  swing  and  "  way"  upon  him  in  the  tragi-comedy 
of  fate,  we  are  hurried  along  in  the  stream  of  his  wild 
gaiety  with  sympathy  which  he  has  no  right  to.  The 
audience  is  all  on  his  side  from  the  first  word.  Sir 
Oliver  is  a  weakheaded  old  gentleman,  not  at  all  equal 
to  Sir  Peter,  and  is  overcome  with  ludicrous  ease  and 
rapidity;  but  the  obstinacy  of  affectionate  gratitude 
^vith  which  the  hot-headed  young  fellow  holds  by  the 
portrait  of  his  benefactor,  and  the  fine  superiority  with 
which  he  puts  all  "little  Premium's"  overtures  aside, 
vv'ithout  putting  on  any  newborn  virtue  or  pretensions 
to  amendment,  are  in  their  way  a  masterpiece.  He  pre- 
tends no  admiration  for  the  distant  uncle,  but  speaks  of 
him  as  freely  as  of  the  other  sacrificed  ancestors.  "  The 
little  ill-looking  fellow  over  the  settee  "  evokes  no  senti- 
ment from  him.  He  is  quite  willing  to  draw  a  post-obit 
upon  Sir  Oliver's  life,  and  to  jest  at  him  as  a  little  nabob 
with  next  to  no  liver.  But  for  all  that,  a  sort  of  impu-. 
dent  fidelity,  a  reckless  gratitude,  is  in  the  ruined  prodigal. 
The  equally  reckless  but  more  composed  friend,  who  is 
ready  to  abet  him  in  all  his  folly  with  the  indifference  of 
an  unconcerned  bystander,  the  wondering  contempt  of 
the  Jew,  the  concealed  and  somewhat  maudlin  emotion 
of  the  once  indignant  uncle,  surround  the  figure  of 
the  swaggering  gallant  with  the  most  felicitous  back- 
ground. It  is  far  less  elaborate  and  complicated  than 
the  companion  scene ;  but  it  is  scarcely  less  successful. 

It  is  a  curious  particular  in  the  excellence  of  the 
piece,  however,  and  scarcely  a  commendation,  we  fear,  in 
the  point  of  view  of  art,  that  these  very  striking  scenes, 
as  well  as  those  in  which  the  scandalmongers  hold  their 


94  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN,  [chap. 

amusing  conclave,  may  all  be  detached  from  the  setting 
with  the  greatest  ease  and  without  any  perceptible  loss 
of  interest.  Never  was  there  a  drama  which  it  was  so 
easy  to  take  to  pieces.  The  screen  scene  in  itself  forms, 
as  we  have  already  pointed  out,  a  succinct  and  brilliant 
little  performance  which  the  simplest  audience  could 
understand;  and  though  the  others  might  require  a 
word  or  two  of  preface,  they  are  each  sufficiently  per- 
fect in  themselves  to  admit  of  separation  from  the 
context.  It  says  a  great  deal  for  the  power  of  the 
writer  that  this  should  be  consistent  with  the  general 
interest  of  the  comedy,  and  that  we  are  scarcely 
conscious  in  the  acting,  of  the  looseness  with  which 
it  hangs  together,  or  the  independence  of  the  dif- 
ferent parts.  Sheridan,  who  was  not  a  playwright  by 
science  but  rather  by  accident,  did  not  in  all  likelihood, 
in  the  exuberance  of  his  youthful  strength,  trouble  him- 
self -with  any  study  of  the  laws  that  regulate  dramatic 
composition.  The  unities  of  time  and  place  he  preserves, 
indeed,  because  it  suits  him  to  do  so ;  the  incidents  of  his 
pieces  might  all  happen  in  a  few  hours  for  anything 
we  know,  and  with  singularly  little  change  of  scene ;  but 
the  close  composition  and  interweaving  of  one  part  with 
another,  which  all  dramatists  ought,  but  so  very  few  do, 
study,  evidently  cost  him  little  thought.  He  has  the 
quickest  eye  for  a  situation,  and  knows  that  nothing 
pleases  the  playgoing  public  so  much  as  a  strong  com- 
bination and  climax ;  but  he  does  not  take  the  trouble 
to  rivet  the  links  of  his  chain  or  fit  them  very  closely 
into  each  other.  It  is  a  wonderful  tribute  to  his  power 
that,  notwithstanding  this  looseness  of  construction,  few 
people  object  to  allow  to  the  School  for  Scandal  the  pre- 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  95 

eminence  accorded  to  it  by  admiring  contemporaries  as 
being  the  best  modern  English  comedy.  There  is  more 
nature  and  more  story  in  She  Stoo;ps  to  Conquer ;  but 
nothing  so  brilliant,  so  incisive,  no  such  concentration  of 
all  the  forces  of  Art,  and  nothing  like  the  sparkle  of 
the  dialogue,  the  polish  and  ease  of  diction.  Goldsmith's 
play,  though  produced  only  three  or  four  years  before, 
is  a  generation  older  in  atmosphere  and  sentiment ;  but 
it  is  the  only  one  which  has  proved  a  competitor  with 
Sheridan's  great  comedy,  or  that  we  can  compare  with 
it.  To  go  back  to  Shakespeare  and  place  these  brilliant 
studies  of  Society  in  the  eighteenth  century  by  the  side 
of  that  radiant  world  of  imagination  which  took  refuge 
in  the  woods  of  Arden,  or  found  a  place  in  the  enchanted 
island,  would  be  futile  indeed.  It  would  be  little  less 
foolish  than  to  compare  Sheridan's  prologues  and  occa- 
sional verses  with  the  Allegro  and  the  Penseroso.  Not  to 
that  region  or  near  it  did  he  ever  reach.  It  was  not  his 
to  sound  the  depths  of  human  thought  or  mount  to  any 
height  of  fancy.  Rosalind  and  Prospero  were  out  of  his 
reckoning  altogether;  but  for  a  lively  observation  of 
what  was  going  on  upon  the  surface  of  life,  with  an 
occasional  step  a  little  way — but  only  a  little  way — 
beyond  :  and  a  fine  instinct  for  that  concentration  of 
incident  and  interest  which  make  a  striking  dramatic 
scene,  nobody  has  excelled  him,  and  very  few  indeed 
reach  anything  like  the  level  of  his  power. 

This  play,  which  the  actors  had  begun  to  rehearse  before 
it  was  all  ^^^:■itten,  was  received  by  everybody  connected 
with  the  theatre  with  excitement  and  applause.  Garrick 
himself,  it  is  said,  attended  the  rehearsals,  and  "was 
never  kno^\Ti  on  any  former  occasion  to  be  more  anxious 


96  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

for  a  favourite  piece."  The  old  actor  threw  himself  mth 
generous  warmth  into  the  interest  of  the  new  dramatist, 
upon  whom  for  the  moment  the  glory  of  Drury  Lane 
depended.  Moore  quotes  a  note  from  him  which  proves 
the  active  interest  he  took  in  the  production  of  the  new 
play.  "A  gentleman  who  is  as  mad  as  myself  about 
y®  School,"  he  writes,  "remarked  that  the  characters 
upon  y^  stage  at  y^  falling  of  y®  screen  stand  too  long 
before  they  speak.  I  thought  so  too  y^  first  night :  he 
said  it  was  y^  same  on  y®  2nd  and  was  remark'd  by 
others :  tho'  they  should  be  astonish'd  and  a  little 
petrify'd,  yet  it  may  be  carry'd  to  too  great  a  length." 
His  affectionate  interest  is  still  further  proved  by  the 
Prologue,  in  which  he  speaks  of  Sheridan  with  a  sort  of 
paternal  admiration. 

"  Is  our  young  bard  so  young  to  think  that  he 
Can  stop  the  full  spring-tide  of  calumny  ? 
Knows  he  the  world  so  little,  and  its  trade  ? 
Alas  !  the  devil's  sooner  raised  than  laid. 
So  strong,  so  swift,  the  monster  there's  no  gagging : 
Cut  Scandal's  head  off,  still  the  tongue  is  wagging. 
Proud  of  your  smiles,  once  lavishly  bestowed. 
Again  our  young  Don  Quixote  takes  the  road ; 
To  show  his  gratitude  he  draws  his  pen. 
And  seeks  the  hydra,  Scandal,  in  his  den. 
For  your  applause  all  perils  he  would  through — 
He'll,  fight — that's  write  —  a  caballero  true, 
Till  every  drop  of  blood — that's  ink — is  spilt  for  you." 

It  is  a  ludicrous  circumstance  in  the  history  that  an 
attempt  was  made  after  Sheridan's  death,  and  by  no  less 
strange  a  hand  than  that  of  his  first  biographer,  Watkins, 
to  question  the  authorship  of  the  School  for  Scandal, 
which,  according  to  this  absurd  story,  was  the  composi- 


III.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR.  SCANDAL."  97 

tion  of  an  anonymous  young  lady,  who  sent  it  to  the 
management  of  Drury  Lane  shortly  before  her  death,  an 
event  of  which  Sheridan  took  advantage  to  produce  her 
work  as  his  own  !  That  any  reasonable  creature  could 
be  found  to  give  vent  to  such  a  ridiculous  fiction,  is  an 
evidence  of  human  folly  and  malignity  more  remark- 
able than  any  in  the  play,  and  laughably  appropriate 
as  connected  T\'ith  it,  as  if  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite  had 
risen  from  the  grave  to  avenge  himself. 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  popularity  which  has 
never  failed  for  more  than  a  century  attended  the  first 
production  of  the  great  comedy.  It  brought  back  pros- 
perity with  a  bound  to  the  theatre,  which  had  been 
struggling  in  vain  under  Sheridan's  management  against, 
so  to  speak,  Sheridan  himself  at  Covent  Garden  in  the 
shape  of  the  Rivals  and  Duenji-a.  Two  years  after  its  first 
production  it  is  noted  in  the  books  of  the  theatre  that  "  the 
School  for  Scandal  damped  the  new  pieces. "  Nothing  could 
stand  against  it,  and  the  account  of  the  nightly  receipts 
shows  Avith  what  steadiness  it  continued  to  fill  the  treasury, 
which  had  been  sinkinsr  to  a  lower  and  lower  ebb. 

Many  attempts  were  made  at  the  time,  and  have  been 
made  since,  to  show  how  and  from  whom  Sheridan  derived 
his  ideas  :  a  more  justifiable  appropriation  than  that  of  the 
play  entire,  though  perhaps  a  still  more  disagreeable  im- 
putation, since  many  who  would  not  give  credit  to  the 
suggestion  of  a  literary  crime  and  wholesale  robbery 
would  not  hesitate  to  believe  the  lesser  accusation. 
Plagiarism  is  vile  and  everywhere  to  be  condemned ; 
but  it  is  an  easy  exercise  of  the  critical  faculty, 
and  one  in  which,  in  all  generations,  some  of  the  smaller 
professors  of  the  craft  find  a  congenial  field  of  labour, 

H 


98  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  chap. 

to  ferret  out  resemblances  in  imaginative  compositions, 
which  are  as  natural  as  the  resemblances  between 
members  of  the  same  race,  were  it  not  for  the  invidious 
suggestion  that  the  one  is  a  theft  from  the  other.  It 
would  be  nearly  as  reasonable  to  say  that  the  family  air 
and  features  of  a  noble  house  were  stolen  from  the 
ancestors  of  the  same.  It  is  suggested  accordingly  that 
Joseph  and  Charles  Surface  came  from  Tom  Jones  and 
Blifil;  that  Mrs.  Malaprop  was  perhaps  Mrs.  Slip-slop 
or  perhaps  a  sort  of  hash  of  Miss  Tabitha  Bramble  and 
her  waiting  maid ;  and  even  that  the  amusing  meetings 
of  the  School  for  Scandal  were  a  reflection  from  the 
Misanthrope.  There  will  always  be  some  who  will 
take  a  pleasure  in  depreciating  the  originality  of  an 
author  in  this  way;  but  it  is  scarcely  necessary,  now 
that  Sheridan  himself  has  become  a  classic,  to  take  any 
trouble  in  pointing  out  the  pettiness  of  such  criticism 
so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  Like  Moli^re,  he  took  his 
own  where  he  found  it,  with  an  inalienable  right  to 
do  so  which  no  reasonable  and  competent  literary 
tribunal  would  ever  deny.  The  process  by  which  one 
idea  strikes  fire  upon  another  and  helps  to  hand  the 
light  of  imagination  along  the  line,  is  a  natural  and 
noble  one,  honourable  to  every  mind  which  has  to  do 
with  it,  and  as  unlike  the  baseness  of  literary  robbery  or 
imitation  as  any  natural  growth  and  evolution  can  be. 
It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  finest  offices  of  the  poet  to 
awaken  smouldering  thoughts  in  other  intelligences,  and 
strike  off  into  the  darkness  as  many  varied  scintilla- 
tions of  kindred  light  as  the  race  can  produce.  A 
curious  instance  of  the  ease  with  which  accusations  of 
this  sort  are  made,  as  well  as  of  how  a  small  slander 


[II.]  THE  "SCHOOL  FOR  SCANDAL."  99 

will  extend  and  spread,  is  to  be  found,  of  all  places  in  the 
world,  in  the  record  made  by  Samuel  Eogers  of  the 
conversations  of  Charles  James  Fox.  Sheridan,  among 
other  appropriations,  had  been  supposed  to  take  the  idea 
of  Sir  Oliver's  return  from  his  own  mother's  novel  of 
Sidney  BidcMph.  He  might  for  that  matter  have  taken 
it  from  a  hundred  novels,  since  no  incident  was  more 
hackneyed.  "  Thought  Sidney  Biddulph  one  of  the  best 
novels  of  the  age,"  Rogers  reports  Fox  to  have  said ; 
"  Sheridan  denied  having  read  it,  though  the  plot  of  his 
School  for  Scandal  was  borrowed  from  it."  Sir  Peter 
Teazle's  ball,  which,  after  missing  Charles  Surface, 
"  struck  against  a  little  bronze  Shakespeare  that  slood 
over  the  fireplace,  glanced  out  of  the  window  at  a  right 
angle,  and  wounded  the  postman  who  was  just  coming 
to  the  door  with  a  double  letter  from  Northamptonshire," 
was  scarcely  a  more  successful  example  of  the  amplifica- 
tion of  report  than  this.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
Fox  meant  any  harm  to  his  friend  and  sometime  col- 
league ;  but  the  expansion  of  the  original  statement  that 
the  idea  of  the  Indian  uncle's  return  came  from  this 
source,  to  the  bold  assertion  that  the  plot  of  the  School 
for  Scandal  was  borrowed  from  it,  is  worthy  of  Lady 
Sneerwell  herself. 

The  play  was  not  published  in  any  authorised  edition 
during  Sheridan's  lifetime,  probably  because  it  was  more 
to  his  profit,  according  to  theatrical  regulations,  that  it 
should  not  be  so — though  Sheridan's  grand  statement  that 
he  had  been  "nineteen  years  endeavouring  to  satisfy 
himself  with  the  style  of  the  School  for  Scandal,  and  had 
not  succeeded,"  may  be  taken  as  the  reason  if  the  reader 
chooses.      He  was  sufficiently  dilatory  and  fastidious  to 


100  KICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

have  made  that  possible.  It  was,  however,  printed  in 
Dublin  (which  was  the  great  seat  of  literary  piracy 
before  the  Union,  when  it  shifted  farther  west),  from 
a  copy  which  Sheridan  had  sent  to  his  sister,  Mrs. 
Lefanu,  "  to  be  disposed  of  for  her  own  advantage  to 
the  manager  of  the  Dublin  theatre."  Almost  immedi- 
ately after  its  production  several  of  the  scenes  were 
"  adapted  "  and  acted  in  France  ;  and  it  has  since  been 
printed  not  only  in  innumerable  editions  in  England, 
but  translated  into  every  European  language.  Nor  is 
there,  we  may  say,  any  new  play,  unattended  by  special 
stimulation  of  adventitious  interest,  which  is  still  so 
certain  of  securing  "  a  good  house." 

In  the  same  year  in  which  this  masterpiece  came  into 
being,  and  moved  by  the  same  necessities,  Sheridan  pro- 
duced the  last  of  his  dramatic  compositions, — a  work 
which  has  perhaps  occasioned  more  innocent  amusement 
and  cordial  laughter  than  any  other  of  the  kind  in  the 
language,  and  has  furnished  us  with  more  allusions  and 
illustrations  than  anything  else  out  of  Shakespeare.  The 
Critic  is,  of  all  Sheridan's  plays,  the  one  which  has  least 
claim  to  originality.  Although  it  is  no  copy,  nor  can  be 
accused  of  plagiarism,  it  is  the  climax  of  a  series  of  attempts 
descending  downwards  from  the  Elizabethan  era,  when 
the  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  was  performed  amid  the 
running  commentaries  of  the  homely  critics  :  and  it  could 
scarcely  have  died  out  of  the  recollection  of  Sheridan's 
audience  that  Fielding  had  over  and  over  again  made 
the  same  attempt  in  the  previous  generation.  But  what 
his  predecessors  had  tried  with  different  degrees  of  suc- 
cess— or  failure — Sheridan  accomplished  triumphantly. 
The  humours  of  the  Rehearsal,  still  sufficiently  novel  to 


Ill  ]  '  THE  "ORITICV"  '    >  >  101 

himself  to  retain  all  their  whimsical  originality,  he  alone 
had  the  power  so  to  set  upon  the  stage  that  all  that  is 
ludicrous  in  dramatic  representation  is  brought  before  us 
— but  ^vith  so  much  dramatic  success  that  the  criticism 
becomes  only  a  more  subtle  kind  of  applause,  and  in  the 
act  of  making  the  theatre  ridiculous,  he  makes  it  doubly 
attractive.  This  amusing  paradox  is  carried  out  with 
the  utmost  skill  and  boldness.  In  the  School  for  Scandal 
Sheridan  had  held  his  audience  in  delighted  suspense  in_ 
scene  after  scene  which  had  merely  the  faintest  link  of 
connection  with  the  plot  of  his  play,  and  did  little  more 
than  interrupt  its  action.  But  in  the  new  work  he  held 
the  stage  for  nearly  half  the  progress  of  the  piece  by  the 
mere  power  of  pointed  and  pungent  remarks,  the  keen 
interchanges  of  witty  talk,  the  personality  of  three  or  four 
individuals  not  sufficiently  developed  to  be  considered 
as  impersonations  of  character,  and  with  nothing  to  do 
but  to  deliver  their  comments  upon  matters  of  literary 
interest.  Earely  has  a  greater  feat  been  performed  on 
the  stage.  We  are  told  that  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary  was 
intended  for  Cumberland,  that  Dangle  meant  some- 
body else,  and  that  this  it  was  that  gave  the  chief  interest 
to  the  first  portion  of  the  play.  But  what  did  the  mul- 
titude care  about  Cumberland  1  Should  it  occur  to  any 
clever  playwright  of  our  day  to  produce  upon  the  stage 
a  caricature  of  one  of  our  poets — we  humbly  thank 
heaven  much  greater  personages  than  Cumberland  —  a 
cultivated  audience  for  the  first  two  or  three  nights 
might  enjoy  the  travesty.  But  London,  on  the  whole, 
when  it  had  once  gazed  at  the  imitated  great  man,  would 
turn  away  without  an  attempt  to  suppress  the  yawn 
which  displayed  its  indifference.     No  populaiw  audience 


102  ^.rOI^A'kti'  BRM&LfiY  Sfl'ERIDAlSr.  [chap. 

anywhere  would  be  moved  by  such  an  expedient, — and 
only  a  popular  audience  can  secure  the  success  of  a  play.  It 
was  not  Cumberland  :  it  was  not  the  theatrical  enthusiast 
represented  by  Dangle.  Nothing  can  be  more  evanescent 
than  successes  produced  by  such  means.  And  this  was  a 
vigorous  and  healthy  success,  not  an  affair  of  the  coteries. 
It  is  all  the  more  astonishing  because  the  play  on  w^ords 
is  somewhat  elaborate,  the  speeches  in  many  cases  long- 
winded,  and  the  subjects  discussed  of  no  general  human 
interest.  Indeed,  Mr.  Puff's  elaborate  description  of 
puffing,  when  subjected  to  the  test  of  reading,  is,  it  must 
be  confessed,  a  little  tedious  :  which  is,  of  all  the  sins  of 
the  stage,  the  most  unpardonable.  Supposing  any  young 
dramatist  of  the  present  day  to  carry  such  a  piece  to  a 
stage  manager,  we  can  imagine  the  consternation  with 
which  his  proposal  would  be  received.  What !  take  up 
the  time  of  the  public  with  a  discussion  of  literary 
squabbles,  and  the  passion  of  an  irate  author  attacked 
by  the  press  ! — expect  the  world  to  be  amused  by  the  pre- 
sentation upon  the  stage  eve5  of  the  most  caustic  of 
Saturday  reviewers,  the  sharpest  operator  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  although  in  the  very  act  of  baiting  a  play- 
wright !  The  young  experimentalist  would  be  shown 
to  the  door  with  the  utmost  celerity.  His  manuscript 
would  not  even  be  unrolled — in  all  probability  his 
theatrical  friend  would  read  him  a  lecture  upon  his 
utter  misconception  of  the  purposes  of  the  stage.  "  My 
dear  Sir,"  we  can  imagine  him  saying,  with  that  mixture 
of  blandness  and  impatience  with  which  a  practical  man 
encounters  an  idealist,  "  there  cannot  be  a  greater  mis- 
take than  to  suppose  that  the  world  cares  for  what  liter- 
ary persons  say  of  each  other.     Your  testy  old  gentle- 


III.  THE  "CRITIC."  103 

man  might  be  bearable  if  he  had  a  daughter  to  marry, 
or  a  son  to  disinherit ;  but  all  this  noise  and  fury  about 
a  review !  Tut !  the  audience  would  be  bored  to  death." 
And  so  any  sensible  adviser  would  say.  Yet  Sir  Fretful 
between  his  two  tormentors,  and  the  cheerful  bustle 
and  assured  confidence  of  Mr.  Puff,  have  held  their 
ground  when  hundreds  of  sensational  dramas  have 
drooped  and  died.  Never  was  a  more  wonderful 
literary  feat.  The  art  of  puffing  has  been  carried  to 
a  perfection  unsuspected  by  Mr.  Puff,  and  not  one  per- 
son in  a  thousand  has  the  most  remote  idea  who  Cum- 
berland was, — but  the  Critic  is  as  delightful  as  ever, 
and  we  listen  to  the  gentlemen  talking  with  as  much 
relish  as  our  grandfathers  did.  Nay,  the  simplest-minded 
audience,  innocent  of  literature,  and  perhaps  not  very 
sure  what  it  all  means,  will  still  answer  to  the  touch, 
and  laugh  till  they  cry  over  the  poor  author's  wounded 
vanity  and  the  woes  of  Tilburina.  Shakespeare,  it  is 
evident,  found  the  machinery  cumbrous,  and  gave  up 
the  idea  of  making  Sly  and  his  mockers  watch  the  pro- 
gress of  the  Taming  of  the  Shreiv,  and  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher  lose  our  interest  altogether  in  their  long-drawn- 
out  by -play  though  the  first  idea  of  it  is  comical  in 
the  highest  degree.  Nor  could  Fielding  keep  the  stage 
with  his  oft-repeated  efforts,  notwithstanding  the  wit 
and  point  of  many  of  his  dialogues.  But  Sheridan  at 
last,  after  so  many  attempts,  found  out  the  right  vein. 
It  is  evident  by  the  essays  made  in  his  own  boyhood  that 
the  subject  had  attracted  him  from  a  very  early  period. 
His  lively  satire,  keen  as  lightning,  but  hannless  as  the 
flashing  of  the  summer  storm  wliich  has  no  thunder  in 
it,  finds  out  every  crevice  in  the  theatrical  mail.     When 


104  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [ceap. 

he  has  turned  the  author  outside  in,  and  exposed  all  his 
little  weaknesses  (not  without  a  sharper  touch  here,  for  it 
is  Mr.  Puff  the  inventor  of  the  art  of  advertising  as  it 
was  in  those  undeveloped  days,  and  not  any  better  man 
who  fills  the  place  of  the  successful  dramatist),  he  turns 
to  the  play  itself  with  the  same  delightful  perception  of 
its  absurdities.  The  bits  of  dialogue  which  are  interposed 
sparkle  like  diamonds. 

"  Sneer.  Pray,  Mr.  Puff,  how  came  Sir  Christopher  Hatton 
never  to  ask  that  question  before  1 

Puff.  What,  before  the  play  began  ? — how  the  plague 
could  he  ? 

Dangle.  That's  true,  i'faith  !" 

And  again — 

"  Dangle.  Mr.  Puff,  as  he  knows  all  this,  why  does  Sir 
Walter  go  on  telling  him  ? 

Puff.  But  the  audience  are  not  supposed  to  know  any- 
thing of  the  matter,  are  they  ? 

Sneer.  True  ;  but  I  think  you  manage  ill :  for  there  cer- 
tainly appears  no  reason  why  Sir  Walter  should  be  so  com- 
municative. 

Puff.  'Fore  Gad,  now,  that  is  one  of  the  most  ungrateful 
observations  I  ever  heard  ! — for  the  less  inducement  he  has 
to  tell  all  this,  the  more  I  think  you  ought  to  be  obliged  to 
him,  for  I'm  sure  you'd  know  nothing  of  the  matter  without  it. 

Dangle.  That's  very  true,  upon  my  word." 

In  these  interpolations  every  word  tells;  but  there 
is  no  malice  in  the  laughing  champion  who  strikes  so  full 
in  the  centre  of  the  shield,  and  gets  such  irresistible 
fooling  out  of  the  difficulties  of  his  own  art.  It  is 
amusing  to  remember,  though  Leigh  Hunt  in  his  some- 
what shrill  and  bitter  sketch  of  Sheridan  points  it  out  with 
unfriendly  zeal,  that  the  sentimental  dramas  which  he 


III.]  THE  "CRITIC."  105 

afterwards  prepared  for  the  stage  were  of  the  very  order 
which  he  here  exposed  to  the  laughter  of  the  world. 
"It  is  observable,  and  not  a  little  edifying  to  observe," 
says  this  critic,  "  that  when  those  who  excel  in  a  spirit 
of  satire  above  everything  else  come  to  attempt  serious 
specimens  of  the  poetry  and  romance  whose  exaggera- 
tions they  ridicule,  they  make  ridiculous  mistakes  of 
their  own  and  of  the  very  same  kind :  so  allied  is  habitual 
want  of  faith  with  want  of  all  higher  power.  The  style  of 
the  Stranger  is  poor  and  pick-thank  enough;  but  Pizarro 
in  its  highest  flights  is  downright  booth  at  a  fair — a 
tall  spouting  gentleman  in  tinsel."  The  words  in  italics 
are  worthy  of  Joseph  Surface.  But  the  more  sjrmpa- 
thetic  reader  will  be  glad  to  remember  that  Pizarro  has 
passed  out  of  the  recollection  of  the  world  so  completely 
that  no  one  but  a  biographer  or  unfriendly  critic  would 
ever  think  nowadays  of  associating  it  with  Sheridan's 
name.  "  Serious  specimens  of  poetry  and  romance " 
were  entirely  out  of  his  way.  The  most  extravagant  of 
his  admirers  has  never  claimed  for  him  any  kindred  with 
the  Shakespearian  largeness  which  makes  Lear  and 
Touchstone  members  of  the  same  vast  family.  That 
Sheridan  himself,  when  driven  to  it,  fell  into  the  lowest 
depths  of  dramatic  bathos  need  not  injure  our  appre- 
ciation of  his  delightful  and  lighthearted  mockery  and 
exposure  of  all  its  false  effects.  In  the  Critic  he  is  at  the 
height  of  his  powers ;  his  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous 
might  have,  though  we  do  not  claim  it  for  him,  a  moral  aim, 
and  be  directed  to  the  reformation  of  the  theatre ;  but  his 
first  inspiration  came  from  his  own  enjoyment  of  the 
humours  of  the  stage  and  perception  of  its  whimsical 
No   doubt,   however,   he   was   weighed 


106  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

down  by  the  preposterous  dramas  which  were  sub- 
mitted to  him  for  the  use  of  the  company  at  Drury  Lane, 
when  he  broke  forth  into  this  brilliant  piece  of  fun  and 
mockery.  It  afforded  a  most  useful  lesson  to  the  drama- 
tical writers  then  abusing  their  prerogative  and  filling  the 
stage  with  bathos  and  highflown  folly ;  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  refuse  to  Sheridan  the  credit  of  a 
good  purpose,  as  well  as  of  a  most  amusing  and  in  no 
way  ill-natured  extravaganza,  admirably  true,  so  far  as  it 
goes,  and  skimming  the  surface  of  society  and  of  some 
developments  of  human  nature  with  an  unerring  hand. 

Another  of  the  many  strange  anecdotes  told  of  Sheri- 
dan's dilatoriness  and  headlong  race  against  time  at  the 
end,  is  connected  with  the  composition  of  the  Critic.  It 
is  perfectly  in  keeping  with  his  character,  but  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  it  was  his  policy  to  suffer  such 
tales  to  be  current,  and  even  to  give  them  a  certain 
amount  of  justification.  The  Critic  was  announced  and 
talked  of  long  before  its  completion,  nay,  before  it  was 
begun — not  a  singular  event  perhaps  in  dramatic  expe- 
rience. It  was  then  sent  to  the  theatre  in  detached 
scenes,  as  had  been  the  case  mth  the  School  for  Scandal. 
Finally  a  definite  date  was  fixed  for  its  appearance — the 
30th  of  October ;  but  when  the  27th  had  arrived,  the 
work,  to  the  despair  of  everybody  connected  with  the 
theatre,  was  still  incomplete. 

We  quote  from  Sheridaniana,  an  anonymous  publication 
intended  to  make  up  the  deficiencies  of  Moore's  life,  the 
following  account  of  the  amusing  expedient  by  which 
the  conclusion  was  accomplished. 

"Dr.  Ford  and  Mr.  Linley,  the  joint  proprietors,  began  to  get 
aervous  and  uneasy,  and  the  actors  were  absolutely  a-w  desespoir, 


III.]  THE  "CRITIC."  107 

especially  King,  wlio  was  not  only  stage-manager,  but  had  to 
play  Puff.  To  him  was  assigned  the  duty  of  hunting  down 
and  worrying  Sheridan  about  the  last  scene  ;  day  after  day 
passed,  until  the  last  day  but  two  arrived,  and  still  it  did 
not  make  its  appearance.  At  last  Mr.  Liiiley,  who,  being  his 
father-in-law,  was  pretty  well  aware  of  his  habits,  liit  upon  a 
stratagem.  A  night  rehearsal  of  the  Critic  was  ordered,  and 
Sheridan  having  dined  with  Linley  was  prevailed  upon  to 
go.  When  they  were  on  the  stage.  King  whispered  to 
Sheridan  that  he  had  something  particular  to  communicate, 
and  begged  he  would  step  into  the  second  greenroom. 
Accordingly  Sheridan  went,  and  found  there  a  table  with  pens, 
ink,  and  paper,  a  good  fire,  an  armchair  at  the  table,  and 
two  bottles  of  claret,  with  a  dish  of  anchovy  sandwiches. 
The  moment  he  got  into  the  room.  King  stepped  out  and 
locked  the  door  ;  immediately  after  which  Linley  and  Ford 
came  up  and  told  the  author  that  until  he  had  written  the 
scene  he  would  be  kept  where  he  was.  Sheridan  took  this 
decided  measure  in  good  part  :  he  ate  the  anchovies,  finished 
the  claret,  wrote  the  scene,  and  laughed  heartily  at  the 
ingenuity  of  the  contrivance." 

We  have  the  less  compunction  in  quoting  an  anecdote, 
vouched  for  only  by  anonymous  witnesses,  that  there 
can  be  little  doubt  it  was  a  kind  of  story  which  Sheridan 
would  have  given  no  contradiction  to.  The  dash  of 
sudden  creation  making  up  for  long  neglect  of  duty  was 
the  conventional  mode  of  procedure  for  such  a  man.  To 
discuss  the  immorality  of  such  a  mode  of  action  w^ould 
be  altogether  out  of  place  here.  Every  evasion  of  duty 
is  due  to  some  sort  of  selfishness;  but  the  world  has 
always  been  indulgent  (up  to  a  certain  point)  of  the 
indolent  and  vagrant  character  which  is  conjoined  wdth  a 
capacity  for  great  work  in  an  emergency,  and,  so  long 
as  the  thing  is  done,  and  done  wdth  such  brilliancy  at 
last,  will  condone  any  irregularity  in  the  doing  of  it. 


108  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

The  result,  it  is  said,  of  the  Critic  was  immediately 
apparent.  For  some  time  after  its  production  the  old 
type  of  tragedy  became  impossible,  at  least  at  Drury 
Lane.  Dramas  in  which  "the  heroine  was  found  to  be 
forestalled  by  Tilburina,"  could  not  be  any  great  loss  to 
the  stage  ;  and  it  is  amusing  to  realise  the  aspect  of  an 
audience  fresh  from  the  Critic,  when  such  a  tragedy  was 
placed  on  the  boards,  while  the  spectators  vainly 
struggled  to  shut  out  a  recollection  of  the  Governor 
opposing  his  honour  to  all  the  seductions  of  his  daughter, 
or  Whiskerandos  refusing  to  die  again  on  any  entreaty, 
from  their  minds.  It  was  little  wonder  if  all  the  craft 
were  furious,  and  the  authors — whose  productions  were 
chased  by  laughter  from  the  stage — could  not  find  any 
abuse  bitter  enough  for  Sheridan. 

There  was,  unfortunately,  very  good  cause  for  complaint 
on  other  grounds.  To  speak  of  his  habits  of  business 
as  being  bad  would  be  absurd,  for  he  had  no  business 
habits  at  all.  His  management  of  the  theatre  when  it 
fell  into  his  hands  was  as  discreditable  as  could  be.  He 
allowed  everything  to  go  to  confusion,  and  letters  and 
the  manuscripts  submitted  to  him,  and  every  application 
relating  to  the  theatre,  to  accumulate,  till  even  the 
cheques  for  which  he  sent  to  his  treasury,  and  which 
he  had  a  thousand  uses  for,  were  confounded  in  the 
general  heap  and  lost  to  him,  till  some  recurring  incident 
or  importunate  applicant  made  an  examination  of  these 
stores  a  necessity.  It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  make  out 
how  far  and  how  long,  or  if  ever,  he  was  himself  re- 
sponsible for  the  stage-management;  but  all  the  business 
of  the  theatre  went  to  confusion  in  his  hands,  and  it 
would  appear  that  at  first  at  least  the  company  took 


m.]  THE  "CRITIC."  109 

example  by  the  disorderly  behaviour  of  their  head. 
Garrick,  who  had  hoped  so  highly  from  the  new  pro- 
prietor and  done  so  much  for  him,  had  to  apologise  as 
he  could  for  a  state  of  things  which  looked  like  chaos 
come  again.  "Everybody  is  raving  against  Sheridan 
for  his  supineness,"  cries  one  of  Garrick's  correspondents; 
and  the  unfortunate  Hawkins,  the  promj  ter  whose  Amen 
upon  the  end  of  the  manuscript  we  have  described,  affords 
us  a  picture  of  the  kingdom  of  misrule  which  existed  at 
Druiy  Lane  which  is  pitiful  enough : 

**  We  played  last  night  Much  Ado  Ahout  Nothing, ^^  (\vrites 
this  martyr),  "  and  had  to  make  an  apology  for  the  three 
principal  parts.  About  twelve  o'clock  Mr.  Henderson  sent 
word  that  he  was  not  able  to  play.  We  got  Mr.  Louis  from 
Covent  Garden,  who  supplied  the  part  of  Benedick.  Soon 
after,  Mr.  Parsons  sent  word  he  could  not  play.  Mr.  Moody 
supplied  the  part  of  Dogberry  ;  and  about  four  in  the  after- 
noon Mr.  Vernon  sent  word  he  could  not  play.  Mr.  Mat- 
tock supplied  his  part  of  Balthazar.  I  thought  myself  very 
happy  in  getting  these  wide  gaps  so  well  stopped.  In  the 
middle  of  the  first  act  a  message  was  brought  to  me  that  Mr. 
Lamash,  who  was  to  play  the  part  of  Borachio,  was  not  come 
to  the  house.  I  had  nobody  then  who  could  go  on  for  it,  so 
I  was  obliged  to  cut  two  scenes  in  the  first  and  second  act 
entirely  out,  and  get  Mr.  Wrighton  to  go  on  for  the  remainder 
of  the  piece.  At  length  we  got  the  play  over  without  the 
audience  finding  it  out.  We  had  a  very  bad  house.  Mr. 
Parsons  is  not  able  to  play  in  the  School  for  Scandal  to-morrow 
night  :  do  not  know  how  we  shall  be  able  to  settle  that.  I 
hope  the  pantomime  may  prove  successful,  and  release  us 
from  this  dreadful  situation." 

This  was  the  condition  into  which  the  orderly  and 
well-governed  theatre  had  fallen  soon  after  Garrick  re- 
signed into  Sheridan's  younger,  and,  as  he  hoped,  better 
hands — the  young  Hercules  who  was  to  succeed  old 


110  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Atlas  in  carrying  the  weight  of  the  great  undertaking 
on  his  shoulders,  his  kingdom  and  authority.  The  re- 
ceipts, that  infallible  thermometer  of  theatrical  success, 
soon  began  to  fail,  and  everything  threatened  destruction, 
which  was  averted  violently  by  the  production  one  after 
the  other  of  Sheridan's  two  plays,  only  to  fall  back  into 
wilder  chaos  afterwards.  For  some  part  of  this  time 
the  elder  Sheridan,  who,  after  their  reconciliation,  had 
engaged  with  his  son  as  one  of  the  members  of  the 
company,  was  stage  manager.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  the 
claims  of  nature  thus  acknowledged,  and  to  have  this 
practical  proof  that  Sheridan  still  believed  in  his  father's 
talents  and  capabilities :  but  it  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  a  fortunate  attempt.  Thomas  Sheridan  is  said  to 
have  been  as  harsh  as  his  son  was  easy  and  disorderly. 
His  highest  effort  in  his  profession  had  been  made  in  the 
hope  of  rivalling  the  great  actor,  with  whose  name  and 
fame  and  all  the  traditions  of  his  method  Drury  Lane 
was  filled.  He  was  an  elocutionist,  and  believed  salva- 
tion to  depend  upon  a  certain  measure  of  delivery  which 
he  had  himself  invented  and  perfected,  and  concerning 
which  he  was  at  once  an  enthusiast  and  a  pedant.  To 
introduce  such  a  man  to  the  little  despotism  of  a  theatre, 
and  set  him  over  the  members  of  an  opposite  faction  in 
his  art,  was,  even  when  tempered  by  the  mildness  of 
Linley,  a  desperate  expedient,  and  his  reign  did  not  last 
very  long.  Whether  it  returned  to  Sheridan's  own  shift- 
less hands  before  a  more  competent  head  was  found,  it 
is  difficult  to  make  out ;  but  at  all  events  it  was  long 
enough  under  his  disorderly  sway  to  turn  every- 
thing upside  down.  The  ridiculous  story  referred  to 
above  about  the  authorship  of  the  School  for  Scandal  was 


rii.  THE  "CRITIC."  Ill 

supported  by  the  complaints  of  authors  whose  manu- 
script dramas  had  never  been  returned  to  them,  and  to 
whom  it  was  easy  to  say  that  Sheridan  had  stolen  their 
best  ideas  and  made  use  of  them  as  his  own.  A  portion 
of  one  of  the  first  scenes  in  the  Critic  which  is  now  out 
of  date,  and  which  mdeed  many  people  may  read  with- 
out any  real  understanding  of  what  it  refers  to,  makes 
special  reference  to  complaints  and  animadversions  of 
this  kind.  Sir  Fretful  announces  that  he  has  sent  his 
play  to  Covent  Garden  : — 

"  Sneer.  I  should  have  thought  now  it  would  have  been 
better  cast  (as  the  actors  call  it)  at  Drury  Lane. 

Sir  Fret.  Oh  lud,  no  !  never  send  a  play  there  while  I 
live.      Hark'ye  [JVhispers  Sneer]. 

Sneer.  Writes  himself  !  I  know  he  does 

Sir  Fret.  I  say  nothing.  I  take  away  from  no  man's 
merit,  am  hurt  at  no  man's  good  fortune.  I  say  nothing. 
But  this  I  will  say  :  through  all  my  knowledge  of  life  I  have 
observed  that  there  is  not  a  passion  so  strongly  rooted  in  the 
human  heart  as  envy. 

Sneer.  I  believe  you  have  reason  for  what  you  say,  in- 
deed. 

Sir  Fret.  Besides — I  can  tell  you  it  is  not  always  safe  to 
leave  a  play  in  the  hands  of  those  who  write  themselves. 

Sneer.  What  !  they  may  steal  from  them,  my  dear 
Plagiary. 

Sir  Fret.  Steal !  to  be  sure  they  may  ;  and  egad  !  serve 
your  best  thoughts  as  gipsies  do  stolen  children,  disfigure 
them  to  make  them  pass  for  their  own 

Sneer.  But  your  present  work  is  a  sacrifice  to  Melpomene, 
and  he,  you  know 

Sir  Fret.  That's  no  security  :  a  dexterous  plagiarist  may 
do  anything.  Why,  sir,  for  aught  I  know,  he  might  take  out 
some  of  the  best  things  in  my  tragedy  and  put  them  into  his 
own  comedy." 

Thus  it  is  apparent  Sheridan  himself  was  perfectly 


112  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

conscious  of  the  things  that  were  said  about  him.  He 
gave  no  contradiction,  it  is  said,  to  the  absui'd  story 
about  the  School  for  Scandal — how  should  he  ?  To  such 
an  extraordinary  accusation  a  contemptuous  silence  was 
the  best  answer.  But  it  is  with  an  easy  good-humour, 
a  laugh  of  the  most  cheerful  mockery,  that  he  confronts 
the  bitter  gossip  which  suggests  the  unsaf  eness  of  leaving 
manuscripts  in  his  hands.  He  was  not  himself  ashamed 
of  his  sins  in  this  respect.  His  bag  of  letters  all  jumbled 
together,  his  table  covered  with  papers,  the  suitors  who 
waited  in  vain  for  a  hearing,  the  business  that  was  done 
by  fits  and  starts  in  the  interval  of  his  other  engage- 
ments,— all  this  did  not  affect  his  conscience.  Cumber- 
land, as  if  to  prove  his  identity  with  Sheridan's  sketch, 
describes  in  a  letter  to  Garrick  the  ways  of  the  new 
manager;  and  the  reader  vnW  see  by  this  brief  para- 
graph how  like  was  the  portrait  "I  read,"  said  the 
dramatist,  "  the  tragedy  in  the  ears  of  the  performers  on 
Friday  morning.  I  was  highly  flattered  by  the  audience, 
but  your  successor  in  the  management  is  not  a  representa- 
tive of  your  polite  attention  to  authors  on  such  occa- 
sions, for  he  came  in  yawning  at  the  fifth  act  mth  no 
other  apology  than  having  sat  up  two  nights  running. 
It  gave  me  not  the  slightest  offence,  as  I  put  it  all  to  the 
habit  of  dissipation  and  indolence :  but  I  fear  his  office 
mil  suffer  from  want  of  due  attention,"  Sir  Fretful  adds. 
This  was  within  a  few  years  of  Sheridan's  entry  upon 
the  property  and  responsibility  of  the  theatre.  All  that 
he  possessed — which  means  all  that  he  had  by  miraculous 
luck  and  by  mysterious  means,  which  no  one  has  ever 
been  able  to  fathom,  scraped  together — was  embarked  in 
it.     It  had  enabled  him  to  enter  at  once  upon  a  way  of 


III.]  THE  "CRITIC."  113 

living,  and  into  a  sphere  of  society  in  which  the  son  of  the 
needy  player  and  lecturer,  the  idle  youth  of  Bath,  without 
a  profession  or  a  penny, — the  rash  lover  who  had  married 
without  the  most  distant  prospect  of  being  able  to  main- 
tain his  wife,  yet  haughtily  forbidden  her  to  exercise  her 
profession  and  maintain  him, — could  never  have  expected 
to  find  himself.  If  ever  man  had  an  inducement  to 
devote  himself  to  the  cultivation  of  the  extraordinary 
opportunities  which  had  been  thus  given  to  him,  it  was 
he.  But  he  had  never  been  trained  to  devote  himself  to 
anything,  and  the  prodigality  of  good  fortune  which  had 
fallen  upon  him  turned  his  head,  and  made  him  believe 
no  doubt  that  everything  was  to  be  as  easy  as  the 
beginning.  Garrick  had  made  a  great  fortune  from  the 
theatre,  and  there  was  every  reason  to  expect  that  Sheridan, 
so  easily  proved  the  most  successful  dramatist  of  his  day, 
might  do  still  more.  But  Sheridan,  alas !  had  none  of 
the  qualities  which  were  requisite  for  this  achievement ; 
even  in  composition  he  had  soon  reached  the  length  of  his 
tether.  Twice  he  was  able  to  make  up  brilliantly  by  an 
almost  momentary  effort  for  the  bad  effects  of  his  careless- 
ness in  every  practical  way.  But  it  is  not  possible  for 
any  man  to  go  on  doing  this  for  ever,  and  the  limit  of 
his  powers  was  very  soon  reached.  If  he  had  kept  to 
his  owTi  easy  trade  and  sphere,  and  refrained  from  public 
life  and  all  its  absorbing  cares,  would  he  have  continued 
periodically  to  remake  his  own  fortune  and  that  of  the 
theatre  by  a  new  play?  Who  can  telH  It  is  always 
open  to  the  spectator  to  believe  that  such  might  have 
been  the  case,  and  that  Sheridan,  put  into  harness  like 
a  few  greater  spirits,  might  have  maintained  an  end- 
less stream  of   production   as  Shakespeare   did.      But 


114  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

there  are  indications  of  another  kind  which  may  lead 
critics  to  decide  differently.  Sheridan's  view  of  life 
was  not  a  profound  one.  It  was  but  a  vulgar  sort  of 
drama,  a  problem  without  any  depths — to  be  solved  by 
plenty  of  money  and  wine  and  pleasure,  by  youth  and 
high  spirits,  and  an  easy  lavishness  which  was  called 
liberality,  or  even  generosity  as  occasion  served.  But 
to  Sheridan  there  was  nothing  to  find  out  in  it,  any  more 
than  there  is  anything  to  find  out  in  the  characters  of 
his  plays.  He  had  nothing  to  say  further.  Lady  Teazle's 
easy  penitence,  her  husband's  pardon,  achieved  by  the 
elegant  turn  of  her  head  seen  through  the  open  door, 
and  the  entry  of  Charles  Surface  into  all  the  good 
things  of  this  life,  in  recompense  for  an  insolent  sort 
of  condescending  gratitude  to  his  egotistical  old  uncle, 
were  all  he  knew  on  this  great  subject.  And  when 
that  was  said  he  had  turned  round  upon  the  stage,  the 
audience,  the  actors,  and  the  writers  who  catered  for 
them,  and  made  fun  of  them  all  with  the  broadest  mirth, 
and  easy  indifference  to  what  might  come  after.  What 
was  there  more  for  him  to  say  1  The  CritiCj  so  far  as  the 
impulse  of  creative  energy,  or  what,  for  want  of  a  better 
word,  we  call  genius,  was  concerned,  was  Sheridan's  last 
word. 

It  was  during  this  period  of  lawlessness  and  misrule 
at  Drury,  while  either  Sheridan  himself  or  his  father 
was  holding  the  sceptre  of  unreason  there,  that  Garrick 
died.  He  had  retired  from  the  theatre  only  a  few  years 
before,  and  had  watched  it  with  anxious  interest  ever 
since,  no  doubt  deeply  disappointed  by  the  failure  of 
the  hopes  which  he  had  founded  upon  the  new  pro- 
prietorship and   the   brilliant  young  substitute  whom 


rii.J  MONODY  ON  GARRICK.  116 

he  had  helped  to  put  into  his  own  place.  Sheridan 
tollowed  him  to  the  grave  as  chief  mourner — and  his 
impressionable  nature  being  strongly  touched  by  the 
death  of  the  man  who  had  been  so  good  to  him,  shut 
himself  up  for  a  day  or  two,  and  wrote  a  monody  to 
Garrick's  memory,  which  met  with  much  applause  in  its 
day.  It  was  seemly  that  some  tribute  should  be  paid 
to  the  great  actor's  name  in  the  theatre  of  which  he  had 
for  so  long  been  the  life  and  soul,  though  Sheridan's 
production  of  his  own  poem  at  the  end  of  the  play 
which  was  then  running,  as  an  independent  performance 
and  sacrifice  to  the  manes  of  his  predecessor  was  a  novelty 
on  the  stage.  It  was  partly  said  and  partly  sung,  and 
must  have  been  on  the  whole  a  curious  interlude  in  its 
solemnity  amid  the  bustle  and  animation  of  the  evening's 
performance.  As  a  poem  it  is  not  remarkable,  but  it  is 
the  most  considerable  of  Sheridan's  productions  in  that 
way.  The  most  characteristic  point  in  it  is  the  com- 
plaint of  the  evanescence  of  an  actor's  fame  and  reputa- 
tion, which  was  very  appropriate  to  the  moment,  though 
perhaps  too  solemn  for  the  occasion.  After  recording 
the  honours  paid  to  the  poet  and  painter,  he  contrasts 
their  lasting  fame  with  the  temporary  reputation  of  the 
heroes  of  the  stage. 

"  The  actor  only  shrinks  from  time's  award  ; 
Feeble  tradition  is  his  mem'ry's  guard  ; 
By  whose  faint  breath  his  merits  must  abide, 
Unvoiich'd  by  proof — to  substance  unallied  ! 
E'en  matchless  Garrick's  art  to  heaven  resign'd, 
No  fix'd  effect,  no  model  leaves  behind  ! 
The  grace  of  action,  the  adapted  mien, 
Faithful  as  nature  to  the  varied  scene  ; 
The  expressive  glance  whose  subtle  comment  draws 


116  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Entranced  attention  and  a  mute  applause  ; 
Gesture  which  marks  with  force  and  feeling  fraught, 
A  sense  in  silence  and  a  will  in  thought  ; 
Harmonious  speech  whose  pure  and  liquid  tone 
Gives  verse  a  music  scarce  confess'd  its  own. 

All  perishable  !  like  th'  electric  fire, 

But  strike  the  frame — and  as  they  strike  expire  ; 

Incense  too  pure  a  bodied  flame  to  bear, 

Its  fragrance  charms  the  sense  and  blends  with  air. 

Where  then — while  sunk  in  cold  decay  he  lies, 

And  pale  eclipse  for  ever  seals  those  eyes — 

Where  is  the  blest  memorial  that  ensures 

Our  Garrick's  fame?    Whose  is  the  trust? — 'tis  yours  !" 

No  one  would  grudge  Garrick  all  the  honour  that 
could  be  paid  him  on  the  stage  where  he  had  been  so 
important  a  figure.  But  that  the  fame  of  the  actor 
should  be  like  incense  which  melts  in  the  air  and  dies  is 
very  natural,  notwithstanding  Sheridan's  protest.  The 
poetry  which  inspires  him  is  not  his,  nor  the  senti- 
ments to  which  he  gives  expression.  He  is  but  an 
interpreter;  he  has  no  claim  of  originality  upon  our 
admiration.  But  Garrick,  if  any  man,  has  had  a 
reputation  of  the  permanent  kind.  His  name  is  as 
well  known  as  that  of  Pope  or  Samuel  Johnson.  His 
generation,  and  the  many  notable  persons  in  it,  gave  him 
a  sort  of  worship  in  his  day.  He  was  buried  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  his  pall  borne  by  noble  peers,  thirty- 
four  mourning  coaches  in  all  the  panoply  of  woe  fol- 
lowing, "  while  the  streets  were  lined  with  groups  of 
spectators  falling  in  with  the  train  as  it  reached  the 
Abbey."  And  up  to  this  day  we  have  not  forgotten 
Garrick.  He  died  in  1779,  just  four  years  after  the 
beginning  of   Sheridan's   connection  with  the  theatre. 


III.]  MONODY  ON  GARRICK.  117 

The  Monody  came  in  between  the  School  for  Scandal 
and  the  Critic,  the  keenest  satire  and  laughter  alternating 
with  the  dirge,  which,  however,  was  only  pennitted  for  a 
few  nights — the  audience  in  general  have  something  else 
to  do  than  to  amuse  itself  by  weeping  over  the  lost. 

It  must  have  been  shortly  after  this  solemn  perform- 
ance that  the  theatre  found  a  more  suitable  manager  in 
the  person  of  King  the  actor :  and  though  Sheridan 
never  ceased  to  harass  and  drain  it,  yet  the  business  of 
every  day  began  to  go  on  in  a  more  regular  manner. 
His  father  retired  from  the  head  of  the  affairs,  and  he 
had  fortunately  too  much  to  do  cultivating  pleasure  and 
society  to  attempt  this  additional  work, — even  with  the 
assistance  of  his  Betsey,  who  seems  to  have  done  him 
faithful  service  through  all  these  early  years.  He  was 
still  but  twenty-nine  when  his  growing  acquaintance  with 
statesmen  and  interest  in  political  affairs  opened  to  the 
brilliant  young  man,  whom  everybody  admired,  the 
portals  of  a  more  important  world. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


PUBLIC   LIFE. 


While  Sheridan  was  completing  his  brief  career  in 
literature,  and  bringing  fortune  and  fame  to  one  theatre 
after  another  by  the  short  series  of  plays,  each  an  essay 
of  a  distinct  kind  in  dramatic  composition,  which  we 
have  discussed,  his  position  had  been  gradually  changing. 
It  had  been  from  the  beginning,  according  to  all  rules  of 
reason,  a  perfectly  untenable  position.  When  he  estab- 
lished himself  in  London  with  his  beautiful  young  wife 
they  had  neither  means  nor  prospects  to  justify  the  life 
which  they  immediately  began  to  lead,  making  their 
house,  which  had  no  feasible  means  of  support,  into  a 
sort  of  little  social  centre,  and  collecting  about  it  a 
crowd  of  acquaintances  much  better  off  than  they,  out 
of  that  indefinite  mass  of  society  which  is  always 
ready  to  go  where  good  talk  and  good  music  are  to 
be  had,  to  amuse  themselves  at  the  cost  of  the  rash 
entertainers,  who  probably  believe  they  are  "making 
friends  "  when  they  expend  all  their  best  gifts  upon  an 
unscrupulous,  though  fashionable,  mob.  Nothing  could 
be  more  unwarrantable  than  this  outset  upon  an  exist- 
ence which  was  serious  to  neither  of  them,  and  in  which 


CHAP,  iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  119 

wit  and  song  were  made  the  servants  of  a  vague  and 
shifting  public  which  took  everything  and  gave  nothing. 
Society  (in  words)  judges  leniently  the  foolish  victims 
who  thus  immolate  themselves  for  its  pleasure,  giving 
them  credit  for  generosity  and  other  liberal  virtues  :  but 
it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  excitement  of  high  animal  spirits 
and  the  love  of  commotion  and  applause  have  more  to 
do  with  their  folly  than  kindness  for  their  fellow-crea- 
tures. The  two  young  Sheridans  had  both  been  brought 
up  in  an  atmosphere  of  publicity,  and  to  both  of  them 
an  admiring  audience  was  a  sort  of  necessity  of  nature. 
And  it  is  so  easy  to  believe,  and  far  easier  then  than  now, 
that  to  "  make  good  friends  "  is  to  make  your  fortune. 
Sheridan  was  more  fortunate  than  it  is  good  for  our 
moral  to  admit  any  man  to  be.  His  rashness,  joined  to 
his  brilliant  social  qualities,  seemed  at  first — even  before 
dramatic  fame  came  in  to  make  assurance  sure — likely 
to  attain  the  reward  for  which  he  hoped,  and  to  bring 
the  world  to  his  feet.  But  such  success,  if  for  the 
moment  both  brilliant  and  sweet,  has  a  Nemesis  from 
whose  clutches  few  escape. 

It  is  evident  that  there  were  some  connections  of  his 
boyish  days,  Harrow  schoolfellows,  who  had  not  forgotten 
him,  or  were  ready  enough  to  resume  old  acquaintance — 
and  gay  companions  of  the  holiday  period  of  Bath,  among 
whom  was  no  less  a  person  than  Windham — who  helped 
him  to  the  friendship  of  others  still  more  desirable. 
Lord  John  Townshend,  one  of  these  early  friends, 
brought  him  acquainted  with  the  most  intimate  and  dis- 
tinguished of  his  after  associates — the  leader  with  whom 
the  most  important  part  of  his  life  was  identified.  It 
was  thus  that  he  formed  the  friendship  of  Fox. 


120  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

"  I  made  (Townshend  writes)  the  first  dinner-party  at 
which  they  met,  having  told  Fox  that  all  the  notions  he 
might  have  conceived  of  Sheridan's  talents  and  genius  from 
the  comedy  of  Tlie  Rivals,  etc.,  would  fall  infinitely  short  of 
the  admiration  of  his  astonishing  powers  which  I  was  sure 
he  would  entertain  at  the  first  interview.  The  first  inter- 
view between  them  —  there  were  very  few  present,  only 
Tickell  and  myself,  and  one  or  two  more  —  I  shall  never 
forget.  Fox  told  me  after  breaking  up  from  dinner  that  he 
always  thought  Hare,  after  my  uncle  Charles  Townshend, 
the  wittiest  man  he  ever  met  with,  but  that  Sheridan  sur- 
passed them  both  infinitely  :  and  Sheridan  told  me  next 
day  that  he  was  quite  lost  in  admiration  of  Fox,  and  that 
it  was  a  puzzle  to  him  to  say  what  he  admired  most,  his 
commanding  superiority  of  talent  and  universal  knowledge, 
or  his  playful  fancy,  artless  manners,  and  benevolence  of 
heart,  which  showed  itself  in  every  word  he  uttered." 

At  very  nearly  the  same  time  Sheridan  became 
acquainted  with  Burke.  Dr.  Johnson  himself,  it  is  said, 
proposed  him  as  a  member  of  the  Literary  Club,  and  his 
friendship  and  connection  with  Garrick  must  have  intro- 
duced him  widely  among  the  people  whom  it  is  distinction 
to  know.  "  An  evening  at  Sheridan's  is  worth  a  week's 
waiting  for,"  Fox  is  reported  to  have  said.  The  brilliant 
young  man  with  his  lovely  wife  was  such  a  representa- 
tive of  genius  as  might  have  dazzled  the  wisest.  He 
had  already  made  the  most  brilliant  beginning,  and  who 
could  tell  what  he  might  live  to  do  with  the  world  still 
before  him,  vigorous  health  and  undaunted  spirits,  and 
all  the  charm  of  personal  fascination  to  enhance  those 
undeniable  powers  which  must  have  appeared  far  greater 
then,  in  the  glow  of  expectation,  and  lustre  of  all  they 
were  yet  to  do,  than  we  know  them  now  to  have  been  1 
And  when  he  stepped  at  once  from  the  life,  without 
any  visible  means,  which  he  had  been  living,  to  the  posi- 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  121 

tion  of  proprietor  of  Drury  Lane,  with  an  established 
occupation  and  the  prospect  of  certain  fortune,  there 
seemed  nothing  beyond  liis  legitimate  ambition,  as  there 
was  nothing  beyond  his  luxury  and  hospitality,  and  lavish 
enjoyment.  Social  success  so  great  and  rapid  is  always 
rare,  and  the  contrast  between  the  former  life  of  the 
poor  player's  penniless  son,  walking  the  streets  of  Bath 
in  idleness  mthout  a  sixpence  in  his  pocket,  and  that  of 
the  distinguished  young  dramatist  on  the  edge  of  public 
life,  making  a  close  alliance  with  two  of  the  first  states- 
men of  the  day,  invited  everywhere,  courted  everywhere, 
must  have  been  overwhelming.  If  his  head  had  been 
turned  by  it,  and  the  head  of  his  Eliza  (or  his  Betsey  as 
he  calls  her  with  magnanimous  disdain  of  finery),  who 
could  have  been  surprised  ?  That  his  foundations  were 
altogether  insecure,  and  the  whole  fabric  dangerous  and 
apt  to  topple  over  like  a  house  of  cards,  was  not  an  idea 
which,  in  the  excitement  of  early  triumph,  he  was  likely 
to  dwell  upon. 

He  had,  as  is  evident  from  the  scattered  fragments 
which  Moore  has  been  careful  to  gather  up,  a  fancy  for 
politics  and  discussion  of  public  matters  at  an  early 
period,  and  intended  to  have  collected  and  published 
various  essays  on  such  subjects  shortly  after  his  mar- 
riage. At  least  it  is  supposed  that  the  solemn  announce- 
ment made  to  Linley  of  "  a  book  "  on  which  he  had  been 
"very  seriously  at  work,"  which  he  was  just  then  send- 
ing to  the  press,  "and  which  I  think  will  do  me  some 
credit  if  it  leads  to  nothing  else,"  must  have  meant  a 
collection  of  these  papers.  Nothing  more  was  ever  heard 
of  it  so  far  as  appears;  but  they  were  found  by  his 
biographer  among  the  chaos  of  scraps  and  uncompleted 


122  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap.  ' 

work  through  which  he  had  to  wade.  Among  these, 
Moore  says,  "are  a  few  political  letters,  evidently  de- 
signed for  the  newspapers,  some  of  them  but  half  copied 
out,  and  probably  never  sent,  ..."  and  "some  com- 
mencements of  periodical  papers  under  various  names. 
The  Dictator,  The  Dramatic  Censor,  etc.,  none  of  them 
apparently  carried  beyond  the  middle  of  the  first 
number ; "  among  which,  oddly  enough,  —  a  strange 
subject  for  Captain  Absolute  to  take  in  hand,  —  "is 
a  letter  to  the  Queen  recommending  the  establish- 
ment of  an  institution  for  the  instruction  and  mainte- 
nance of  young  females  in  the  better  classes  of  life,  who, 
from  either  the  loss  of  their  parents  or  poverty,  are 
without  the  means  of  being  brought  up  suitably  to  their 
station,"  to  be  founded  on  the  model  of  St.  Cyr,  placed 
under  the  patronage  of  Her  Majesty,  and  entitled  "  The 
Royal  Sanctuary."  This  fine  scheme  is  supported  by 
eloquence  thoroughly  appropriate  at  once  to  the  subject 
in  such  hands,  and  to  the  age  of  the  writer.  "  The  dis- 
pute about  the  proper  sphere  of  women  is  idle,"  he  says. 
"  That  men  should  have  attempted  to  draw  a  line  for  their 
orbit  shows  that  God  meant  them  for  comets,  and  above 
our  jurisdiction.  With  them  the  enthusiasm  of  poetry 
and  idolatry  of  love  is  the  simple  voice  of  nature."  .  .  . 
"  How  can  we  be  better  employed,"  the  young  man  adds 
with  a  lofty  inspiration  which  puts  all  modern  agitations 
on  the  subject  to  shame,  "  than  in  perfecting  that  which 
governs  us  1  The  brighter  they  are  the  more  shall  we 
be  illumined.  Were  the  minds  of  all  women  cultivated 
by  inspiration  men  would  become  wiser  of  course.  They 
are  a  sort  of  pentagraphs  with  which  nature  writes  on 
the  heart  of  man :  what  she  delineates  on  the  original 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  128 

map  will  appear  on  the  copy."  This  fine  contribution 
to  the  literature  of  a  subject  which  has  taken  so  import- 
ant a  place  among  the  discussions  of  to-day  would  per- 
haps, however,  scarcely  accord  with  the  tone  of  the  argu- 
ments now  in  use. 

From  this  romantic  question  he  diverged  into  politics 
proper ;  and  under  the  stimulation  of  London  life,  and 
his  encounter  with  the  actual  warriors  of  the  day,  the 
tide  had  begun  to  run  so  strongly  that  Sheridan  ven- 
tured an  unwary  stroke  against  the  shield  which  Dr. 
Johnson  had  just  hung  up  against  all  comers  in  his 
pamphlet  on  the  American  question.  Fortunately  for 
himself  it  did  not  come  to  anything,  for  he  had  in- 
tended, it  appears,  to  instance  Johnson's  partisanship  on 
this  occasion  as  a  proof  of  the  effect  of  a  pension,  describ- 
ing "  such  pamphlets  "  as  "  trifling  and  insincere  as  the 
venal  quit-rent  of  a  birthday  ode,"  and  stigmatising  the 
great  writer  himself,  the  Autocrat  of  the  past  age,  as 
"  an  eleemosynary  politician  who  writes  on  the  subject 
merely  because  he  has  been  recommended  for  writing 
otherwise  all  his  lifetime."  Such  profanity  will  make 
the  reader  shiver  :  but  fortunately  it  never  saw  the  light, 
and  with  easy  levity  the  young  dramatist  turned  round 
and  paid  the  literary  patriarch  such  a  compliment  upon 
the  stage  as  perhaps  the  secret  assault  made  all  the 
warmer.  This  was  conveyed  in  a  prologue  written 
by  Sheridan  to  a  play  of  Savage : — 

"  So  pleads  the  tale  that  gives  to  future  times 
The  son's  misfortunes  and  the  parent's  crimes  ; 
There  shall  his  fame  if  own'd  to-night  survive, 
Fix'd  by  the  hand  that  bids  our  language  live." 

Another  political  essay  of  a  less  personal  character 


124  RICHAKD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

upon  the  subject  of  Absenteeism  in  Ireland  also  forms 
one  of  these  unfinished  relics.  Sheridan  was  so  little  of 
an  Irishman  in  fact  that  there  is  not,  we  think,  a  single 
trace  even  of  a  visit  to  his  native  country  from  the  time 
he  left  it  as  a  child,  and  all  his  personal  interests  and 
associations  were  in  England.  But  his  family  had  veered 
back  again  to  the  place  of  their  birth,  his  brother 
and  sisters  having  settled  in  Dublin,  and  no  doubt  a 
warmer  interest  than  the  common  would  naturally  be  in 
the  mind  of  a  man  whose  veins  were  warmed  by  that 
sunshine  which  somehow  gets  into  English  blood  on  the 
other  side  of  the  narrow  seas.  In  those  elementary 
days  when  Ireland  was  but  beginning  to  find  out  that 
her  woes  could  have  a  remedy,  Absenteeism  was  the 
first  and  greatest  of  the  evils  that  were  supposed  to 
oppress  her,  and  the  optimists  of  the  period  were  dis- 
posed to  believe  that  could  her  landlords  be  persuaded 
to  reside  on  their  estates,  all  would  be  well.  The 
changed  ideas  and  extraordinary  development  of  re- 
quirements since  that  simple  age  make  it  interesting 
to  quote  Sheridan's  view  of  the  situation  then.  He 
sets  before  us  the  system  which  we  at  present  identify 
with  the  tactics  rather  of  Scotch  than  of  Irish  landlords, 
that  of  sacrificing  the  people  to  sheep  (since  followed  by 
deer),  and  substituting  large  sheep  farms  for  the  smaller 
holdings  of  the  crofters  or  cotters,  with  considerable 
force,  although  argument  on  that  side  of  the  question 
has  gone  so  much  further  and  sustained  so  many  changes 
since  then. 

"  It  must  ever  be  the  interest  of  the  Absentee  to  place 
his  estate  in  the  hands  of  as  few  tenants  as  possible,  by 
which  means  there  will  be  less  difficulty  or  hazard  in  col- 


IV.  1  PUBLIC  LIFE.  125 

lecting  his  rents  and  less  entrusted  to  an  agent,  if  the  estate 
require  one.  The  easiest  method  of  effecting  this  is  by  lay- 
ing out  the  land  for  pasturage,  and  letting  it  in  grass  to  those 
who  deal  only  in  a  '  fatal  living  crop/  whose  produce  we  are 
not  allowed  a  market  for  where  manufactured,  while  we  want 
art,  honesty,  and  encouragement  to  fit  it  for  home  consump- 
tion. Thus  the  indolent  extravagance  of  the  lord  becomes 
subservient  to  the  interests  of  a  few  mercenary  graziers — 
shepherds  of  most  unpastoral  principles — while  the  veteran 
husbandman  may  lean  on  the  shattered  unused  plough  and 
view  himself  surrounded  wdth  flocks  that  furnish  raiment 
without  food.  Or  if  his  honesty  be  not  proof  against  the 
hard  assaults  of  penury,  he  may  be  led  to  revenge  himself 
on  those  ducal  innovators  of  his  little  field — then  learn  too 
late  that  some  portion  of  the  soil  is  reserved  for  a  crop  more 
fatal  even  than  that  which  tempted  and  destroyed  him. 

"Without  dwelling  on  the  particular  ill  effects  of  non- 
residence  in  this  case,  I  shall  conclude  with  representing 
that  powerful  and  supreme  prerogative  which  the  Absentee 
foregoes — the  prerogative  of  mercy,  of  charity.  The  estated 
resident  is  invested  with  a  kind  of  relieving  providence — a 
powder  to  heal  the  wounds  of  undeserved  misfortune,  to 
break  the  blows  of  adverse  fortune,  and  leave  chance  no 
powder  to  undo  the  hopes  of  honest  persevering  industry. 
There  cannot  surely  be  a  more  happy  station  than  that 
wherein  prosperity  and  worldly  interest  are  to  be  best  for- 
warded by  an  exertion  of  the  most  endearing  offices  of 
humanity.  This  is  his  situation  who  lives  on  the  soil  which 
furnishes  him  with  means  to  live.  It  is  his  interest  to  watch 
the  devastation  of  the  storm,  the  ravage  of  the  flood,  to  mark 
the  pernicious  extremes  of  the  elements,  and  by  a  judicious 
indulgence  and  assistance  to  convert  the  sorrows  and  repin- 
ings  of  the  sufferer  into  blessings  on  his  humanity.  By  such 
a  conduct  he  saves  his  people  from  the  sin  of  unrighteous 
murmurs,  and  makes  heaven  his  debtor  for  their  resignation." 

It  is  strange  yet  not  incomprehensible  that  tlie  course 
of  events  should  have  turned  this  plaint  and  appeal  to 
the  landlords  to  unite  themselves  more  closely  with  their 


126  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

tenants  into  the  present  fierce  endeavour  to  get  rid  of 
landlords  altogether.  In  the  end  of  last  century  every- 
body repeated  the  outcry.  It  was  the  subject  of  Miss 
Edgeworth's  popular  stories,  as  well  as  of  young  Sheridan's 
first  essay  in  political  writing.  Perhaps,  had  the  appeal 
been  cordially  responded  to  in  these  days,  there  would 
have  been  a  less  dangerous  situation,  a  milder  demand, 
in  our  own. 

These  not  very  brilliant  but  sensible  pages  were  the 
first  serious  attempts  of  Sheridan,  so  far  as  appears,  to 
put  together  his  thoughts  upon  a  political  subject.  He 
had  shown  no  particular  inclination  towards  public  life 
in  his  earlier  days  :  no  resort  to  debating  clubs,  like  that 
which  at  a  later  period  brought  Canning  under  the  eyes 
of  those  in  power,  is  recorded  of  him.  Oratory  in  all 
probability  had  been  made  odious  to  him  by  his  father's 
unceasing  devotion  to  his  system,  and  the  prominence 
which  the  art  of  elocution  had  been  made  to  bear  in  his 
early  life.  And  it  is  a  little  difficult  to  make  out  how 
it  was  that,  just  as  he  had  achieved  brilliant  success  in 
one  career  he  should  have  so  abruptly  turned  to  another, 
and  set  his  heart  and  hopes  on  that  in  preference  to 
every  other  path  to  distinction.  No  doubt  a  secret  sense 
that  in  this  great  sphere  there  were  superior  triumphs  to  be 
won  must  have  been  in  his  mind.  Nobody,  so  far  as 
we  are  aware,  has  ever  doubted  Sheridan's  honesty  or 
the  sincerity  of  his  political  opinions.  At  the  same  time 
it  can  scarcely  be  imagined  that  the  acquaintance  of 
Fox  and  Burke  had  not  a  large  share  in  determining 
these  opinions,  and  that  other  hopes  and  wishes,  apart 
from  the  impulses  of  patriotism  and  public  spirit,  had  not 
much  to  do  in  turning  him  towards  a  course  of  life  so  little 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  127 

indicated  by  anything  in  its  beginning.  There  is  no 
appearance  that  Sheridan  cared  very  much  for  literary 
fame.  His  taste  was  not  refined  nor  his  mind  highly 
cultivated ;  he  thought,  like  Byron  and  George  HI,  that 
Shakspeare  was  a  much  over-rated  writer.  He  was  very 
diflScult  to  please  in  his  own  diction,  and  elaborated  both 
written  dialogues  and  spoken  speeches  with  the  most 
anxious  care ;  but  fame  as  an  author  was  not  what  he 
looked  for  or  cared  for,  nor  would  such  a  reputation  have 
answered  his  purpose.  Social  success  was  what  he  aimed 
at — he  wanted  to  be  among  the  first,  not  in  intellect,  but 
in  fact :  to  win  his  way  into  the  highest  elevation,  and  to 
stand  there  on  an  equality  with  whosoever  should  ap- 
proach. For  such  an  aim  as  this,  literature,  unaided,  can 
do  but  little.  The  days  of  patronage,  in  which  an  author 
was  the  natural  hanger-on  and  dependent  of  a  great  man, 
are  not  so  dissimilar  as  they  appear,  to  our  own  :  except 
in  so  far  that  the  patron  in  former  days  paid  a  more  just 
equivalent  for  the  distinction  which  his  famous  hanger- 
on  might  give  him.  In  modern  times  the  poet  who  is 
content  to  swell  the  train  of  a  great  family  and  get  him- 
self into  society  by  that  means,  gets  a  very  precarious 
footing  in  the  enchanted  circle,  and  is  never  recognised 
as  one  of  the  fine  people  who  give  him  a  great  deal  of 
vague  praise  but  nothing  else.  This  was  a  sort  of  favour 
which  Sheridan  would  never  have  brooked.  He  had 
made  that  clear  from  the  Ijeginning.  He  would  not  creep 
into  favour  or  wait  for  invitations  to  great  houses,  but 
l)oldly  and  at  once  took  the  initiative,  and  himself  invited 
the  great  world,  and  became  the  host  and  entertainer 
of  persons  infinitely  more  important  than  himself.  There 
.  is  no  subject  on  which  the  easy  morality  of  society  has 


128  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

been  more  eloquent  than  on  the  folly  of  the  artist  and 
man  of  letters  who,  not  content  with  having  all  houses 
thrown  open  to  them,  insist  upon  entertaining  in  their 
own  persons,  and  providing  for  dukes  and  princes  what 
can  be  but  a  feeble  imitation,  at  the  best,  of  their  own 
lordly  fare.  But  we  think  that  the  sympathetic  reader, 
when  he  looks  into  it,  will  find  many  inducements  to  a 
charitable  interpretation  of  such  seeming  extravagance. 
The  artist  is  received  everywhere  :  he  is  among,  but  not 
of,  the  most  brilliant  assemblages,  perhaps  even  he  lends 
them  part  of  their  attractions  :  but  even  in  the  very 
stare  with  which  the  fine  ladies  and  fine  gentlemen 
contemplate  him,  he  will  read  the  certainty  that  he  is  a 
spectacle,  a  thing  to  be  looked  at — but  not  one  of  them. 
In  his  own  house  the  balance  is  redressed,  and  he  holds 
his  fit  place.  Something  of  this  feeling  perhaps  was  in 
the  largeness  of  hospitality  with  which  Sir  Walter  Scott 
threw  open  his  doors,  a  magnanimous  yet  half-disdainful 
generosity,  as  who  should  say,  "  If  you  will  stare,  come 
here  and  do  it,  where  I  am  your  superior  as  master  of 
my  house,  your  inferior  only  out  of  high  courtesy  and 
honour  to  my  guest."  Sheridan  was  not  like  Scott ;  but 
he  was  a  proud  man.  And  it  pleased  his  sense  of  humour 
that  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  still  balancing  in  her 
mind  whether  she  should  receive  these  young  people, 
should  be  his  guest  instead,  and  have  the  grace  extended 
to  her,  instead  of  first  extending  it  to  him.  And  no 
doubt  his  determination  to  acquire  for  himself,  if  by  any 
possibility  he  could,  a  position  in  which  he  should  be  on 
the  same  level  as  the  greatest, — not  admitted  on  sufi'er- 
ance  but  an  indispensable  part  of  society, — had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  earnestness  with  which  he  threw 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  129 

himself  into  public  life.  The  origin  of  a  great  statesman 
is  unimportant.  Power  is  a  dazzling  cloak  which  covers 
every  imperfection,  whereas  fame  of  other  kinds  but 
emphasizes  and  points  them  out. 

This  is  by  no  means  to  say  that  Sheridan  had  no 
higher  meaning  in  his  political  life.  He  was  very  faith- 
ful to  his  party  and  to  Fox,  and  later  to  the  less  respect- 
able patron  with  whom  his  name  is  associated,  with 
little  reward  of  any  kind.  But  he  was  not  an  enthusiast 
like  Burke,  any  more  than  a  philosopher,  nor  was  his 
patriotism  or  his  character  worthy  to  be  named  along 
with  those  of  that  noble  and  unfortunate  politician, 
with  Avhom  for  one  period  of  their  lives  Sheridan 
was  brought  into  a  sort  of  rivalship.  Burke  was  at 
all  times  a  leading  and  originating  spirit,  penetrating 
the  surface  of  things;  Sheridan  a  light-hearted  adven- 
turer in  politics  as  well  as  in  life,  with  keen  perceptions 
and  a  brilliant  way  of  now  and  then  hitting  out  a 
right  suggestion  and  finding  often  a  fine  and  effective 
thing  to  say.  It  is  impossible,  however,  to  think  of  him 
as  influencing  public  opinion  in  any  great  or  lasting  way. 
He  acted  on  tlie  great  stage  of  public  life,  on  a  large 
scale,  the  part  of  the  Horatios — nay,  let  us  say  the  Mer- 
cutios  of  the  theiitre, — sometimes  by  stress  of  circum- 
stances coming  to  the  front  with  a  noble  piece  of  rhetoric 
or  even  of  pure  poetry  to  deliver  once  in  a  way,  always 
giving  a  brilliancy  of  fine  costume  and  dazzle  and  glitter 
on  the  second  level.  If  the  motives  which  led  him  to  that 
greatest  of  arenas  were  not  solely  the  ardours  of  patriotism, 
they  were  not  the  meaner  stimulants  of  self-interest.  He 
had  no  thought  of  making  his  fortune  out  of  his  country  ; 
if  he  hoped  to  get  advancement  by  her,  and  honour,  and 

K 


130  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

a  place  among  the  highest,  these  desires  were  at  least 
not  mercenary,  and  might  with  very  little  difficulty  be 
translated  into  that  which  is  still  considered  a  lofty 
weakness — that  which  Milton  calls  the  last  infirmity  of 
noble  minds — a  desire  for  fame.  It  is  easy  to  make 
this  pursuit  look  very  fine  and  dazzling :  it  may  be 
mean  enough  on  the  other  hand. 

It  was  in  1780,  when  he  was  twenty -nine,  that 
Sheridan  entered  Parliament.  It  was  his  pride  that  he 
was  not  brought  in  for  any  pocket  borough,  but  was 
elected  by  the  town  of  Stafford,  in  which  the  freemen  of 
the  burgh  had  the  privilege  of  choosing  their  member. 
How  they  exercised  that  choice — agreeably,  no  doubt,  to 
themselves,  and  very  much  so  to  the  candidate,  whose 
path  was  thus  extraordinarily  simplified — may  be  seen 
in  the  account  of  Sheridan's  election  expenses,  where 
there  is  one  such  broad  and  simple  entry  as  the  following  : 
— "248  BurgesseSy paid  £5  6s.  each."  A  petition  against  his 
return  and  that  of  his  colleague  was  not  unnaturally  pre- 
sented, but  came  to  nothing,  and  Sheridan's  first  speech 
was  made  in  his  own  defence.  It  was  not  a  very  suc- 
cessful one.  The  House,  attracted  by  his  reputation  in 
other  scenes,  and  by  the  name,  which  by  this  time  was 
so  well  known  in  society,  heard  him  "with  particular 
attention;"  but  he,  whose  future  appearances  were  to 
carry  with  them  the  enthusiastic  applauses  of  the  most 
difficult  audience  in  England,  had  to  submit  to  the  force 
of  ridicule,  which  he  himself  so  often  and  so  brilliantly 
applied  in  after  times,  and  to  that  still  more  appalhng 
ordeal,  the  chill  attention  and  disappointment  of  his 
hearers.  He  is  said  to  have  rushed  up  to  the  reporters' 
gallery  where  Woodfall  was  busy  with  his  notes,  and  to 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  181 

have  asked  his  opinion.  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not 
think  this  is  your  line,"  said  that  candid  friend ;  "  you 
had  much  better  have  stuck  to  your  former  pursuits," 
on  hearing  which  Sheridan  rested  his  head  on  his  hands 
for  a  few  minutes  and  then  vehemently  exclaimed — "  It 

is  in  me,  however,  and,  by  G ,  it  shall  come  out." 

The  quiver  of  disappointment,  excitement,  and  deter- 
mination in  this  outcry  is  very  characteristic.  It  did 
come  out,  and  that  at  no  very  great  interval,  as  every- 
body knows. 

Sheridan  entered  political  life  at  a  time  when  it  was 
full  of  commotion  and  conflict.  The  American  war  was 
in  full  progress,  kept  up  by  the  obstinacy  of  the  King 
and  the  subser\dency  of  his  Ministers  against  almost  all 
the  better  feeling  of  England,  and  in  face  of  a  steadily 
increasing  opposition,  which  extended  from  statesmen 
like  Burke  and  Fox  down  to  the  other  extremity  of 
society  —  to  the  Surrey  peasant  who  was  William 
Cobbett's  father,  and  who  "would  not  have  suffered  his 
best  friend  to  drink  success  to  the  King's  arms."  Politics 
were  exceptionally  keen  and  bitter,  since  they  were  in  a 
great  measure  a  personal  conflict  between  a  small  number 
of  men  pitted  against  each  other — men  of  the  same 
training,  position,  and  traditions,  but  split  into  two 
hereditary  factions,  and  contending  fiercely  for  the 
mastery — while  the  nation  had  little  more  to  do  with  it 
than  to  stand  at  a  distance  vaguely  looking  on,  with  no 
power  of  action  and  even  an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the 
proceedings  of  Parliament,  which  was  supposed  to  repre- 
sent and  certainly  did  rule  them.  That  the  public  had 
any  right  at  all  to  a  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  debates  of  the  two  Houses,  was  but  a  recent  idea, 


132  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

and  still  the  reports  were  to  the  highest  degree  meagre 
and  unsatisfactory ;  while  the  expression  of  public  feel- 
ing through  the  newspapers  was  still  in  a  very  early 
stage.  But  within  the  narrow  circle  which  held  power, 
and  which  also  held  the  potential  criticism  which  is  the 
soul  of  party  in  England,  the  differences  of  opinion  were 
heightened  by  personal  emulations,  and  violent  opposi- 
tions existed  between  men  of  whom  we  find  a  difficulty 
in  discovering  now  why  it  was  that  they  did  not  work  con- 
tinuously side  by  side,  instead  of,  with  spasmodic  changes, 
in  separate  parties.  There  were  points,  especially  in 
respect  to  the  representation  of  the  people,  in  which  Pitt 
was  more  liberal  than  Fox :  and  the  Whigs,  thenceforward 
to  be  associated  with  every  project  of  electoral  reform, 
were  Conservative  to  the  highest  degree  in  this  respect, 
and  defended  their  close  boroughs  with  all  the  zeal  of 
proprietorship.  In  1780,  when  Sheridan  entered  Par- 
liament, the.  King  took  an  active  part  in  every  act  of  the 
Government,  with  an  obedient  minister  under  his  orders, 
and  a  Parliament  filled  with  dependents  and  pensioners. 
No  appeal  to  the  country  was  possible  in  those  days,  or 
even  thought  of.  No  appeal,  indeed,  was  possible  any- 
where. It  was  the  final  battle-ground,  where  every  com- 
batant had  his  antagonist,  and  the  air  was  always  loud 
with  cries  of  battle.  The  Whig  party  had  it  very  much 
at  heart  to  reduce  the  power  of  the  Court,  and  clear  out 
the  accumulated  corruptions  which  stifled  wholesome  life 
in  the  House  of  Commons  ;  but  they  had  no  very  strong 
desire  to  widen  the  franchise  or  admit  the  mass  of  the 
people  to  political  privileges.  Sheridan,  indeed,  had  taken 
part  along  with  Fox  during  that  very  year  in  a  Eeform 
meeting  which  had  passed  certain  "  Resolutions  on  the 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  133 

state  of  the  representation,"  advocating  the  right  of  the 
people  to  universal  suffrage  and  annual  parliaments ;  but 
it  is  scarcely  possible  to  believe  that  their  share  in  it  was 
more  than  a  pleasantry.  "  Always  say  that  you  are  for 
annual  parliaments  and  universal  suffrage,  then  you 
are  safe,"  Fox  is  reported  to  have  said,  with  no  doubt 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye  :  while  Burke  made  merry  over  the 
still  more  advanced  opinions  of  some  visionary  politicians, 
"who — founding  on  the  latter  words  of  a  statute  of 
Edward  IIL  that  a  parliament  should  be  holden  every 
year  once,  and  more  often  if  need  be — were  known  by  the 
denomination  of  Oftener-if-need-bes."  "For  my  part," 
he  would  add,  "I  am  an  Of tener-if -need-be. "  Thus  the 
statesmen  jested  at  their  ease,  very  sure  that  nothing 
would  come  of  it,  and  not  unwilling  to  amuse  them- 
selves with  schemes  so  extravagant. 

Among  the  leaders  of  the  party  with  which  Sheridan 
threw  in  his  fortunes,  a  very  high,  perhaps  the  highest 
place  was  held  by  Burke,  who  was  in  some  respects  like 
himself,  a  man  of  humble  origin,  with  none  of  the  digni- 
fied antecedents  possessed  by  the  others,  though  with  a 
genius  superior  to  them  all,  and  the  highest  oratorical 
powers :  the  countryman,  perhaps  the  model,  perhaps 
the  rival,  of  the  new  recruit  with  whom  he  had  so  many 
external  points  of  likeness.  It  is  curious  to  find  two 
such  men,  both  Irishmen,  both  in  the  higher  sense  of 
the  word  adventurers,  with  the  same  command  of  elo- 
quence, at  the  head  of  a  great  English  political  party  at 
the  same  moment.  There  does  not  seem  ever  to  have 
been  the  same  cordiality  of  friendship  between  them, 
notTvithstanding,  or  perhaps  in  consequence  of,  the  simi- 
larity of  their  circumstances,  as  existed  between  each  of 


134  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

them  and  the  genial  and  gracious  Fox,  whose  lovableness 
and  sweetness  of  nature  seem  to  have  vanquished  every 
heart  and  kept  an  atmosphere  of  pleasantness  about 
him,  which  breathes  through  every  page  in  which  he  is 
named.  To  have  come  at  once  into  the  close  companion- 
ship of  such  men  as  these,  to  be  permitted  to  share 
their  counsels,  to  add  his  word  to  theirs,  to  unite  with 
them  in  all  their  undertakings,  and,  dearest  joy  of  all,  to 
fight  by  their  side  in  every  parliamentary  tumult,  and 
defy  the  Tories  and  the  Fates  along  with  them,  was  an 
elevation  which  might  well  have  turned  the  head  of  the 
young  dramatist  who  had  so  little  right  to  expect  any 
such  astonishing  advancement. 

And  the  firmament  all  around  this  keen  and  eager 
centre  was  gloomy  and  threatening; — in  America  the 
war  advancing  to  that  stage  in  which  continuance  becomes 
an  impossibility  and  a  climax  of  one  kind  or  another 
must  be  arrived  at ; — in  Ireland,  which  in  those  days  was 
the  Ireland  of  the  Protestant  ascendency,  the  reverse  of 
everything  that  calls  itself  Irish  now — a  sort  of  chronic 
semi-rebellion.  In  India,  where  the  Company  were 
making  their  conquests  and  forming  their  government 
in  independence  of  any  direct  imperial  control,  a  hundred 
questions  arising  which  would  have  to  be  settled  ere  long ; 
— in  France,  the  gathering  of  the  revolutionary  storm, 
which  was  soon  to  burst  and  affect  all  the  world.  A 
more  exciting  outlook  could  not  be.  The  existing  gene- 
ration did  not  perhaps  realise  the  crowding  in  of  troubles 
from  every  side  as  we  do,  to  whom  the  whole  panorama 
is  rolled  out ;  while  naturally  there  were  matters  which 
we  take  very  calmly  as  knowing  them  to  have  passed 
quite  innocuously  over  the  great  vitality  of  England, 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  135 

which  to  them  looked  dangers  unspeakable.  But  we 
need  not  attempt  to  enter  here  into  that  detailed  narra- 
tive of  the  political  life  of  the  period  which  would  be 
necessary  did  we  trace  Sheridan  through  every  debate 
he  took  part  in,  and  every  political  movement  in  which 
he  was  engaged.  This  has  been  recently  done  in  a  former 
volume  of  this  series  with  a  completeness  and  care  which 
would  render  a  repeated  effort  of  the  same  character  a 
superfluity,  even  were  the  writer  bold  enough  to  venture 
upon  such  a  competition.  The  political  surroundings 
and  events  of  Burke's  public  life  were  to  a  great  extent 
those  of  Sheridan  also,  and  it  would  be  almost  an  imper- 
tinence to  retrace  the  ground  which  Mr.  Morley  has 
gone  over  so  thoroughly.  We  will  therefore  confine 
ourselves  to  an  indication  of  the  chief  movements  in 
w^hich  Sheridan  was  personally  involved,  and  in  which 
his  impetuous  eloquence  produced  an  eff'ect  which  has 
made  his  name  historical.  This  result  was  not  immedi- 
ately attained ;  but  it  is  evident  that  the  leaders  of  the 
party  must  have  very  soon  perceived  how  valuable  a 
recruit  the  young  member  for  Stafford  was,  since  he  was 
carried  with  them  into  office  after  little  more  than  two 
years  of  parliamentary  life,  in  the  short  accession  to 
power  of  the  Whig  party  after  the  fall  of  Lord  North. 
What  he  had  done  to  merit  this  speedy  elevation  it  is 
difficidt  to  see.  He  was  made  one  of  the  under-secretaries 
of  state  in  the  Kockingham  ministry,  and  had  to  all  appear- 
ance the  ball  at  his  foot.  The  feeling  entertained  on  this 
subject  by  his  family,  watching  from  across  the  Channel 
with  much  agitation  of  hope  the  extraordinary  and  un- 
accountable advance  he  was  making,  is  admirably  set 
forth  in  the  following  letter  from  his  brother : — 


136  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN".  [chap. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your .  early  intelligence 
concerning  the  fate  of  the  ministry,  and  give  you  joy  on  the 
occasion,  notwithstanding  your  sorrow  for  the  departure  of 
the  good  opposition.  I  understand  very  well  what  you  mean 
by  this  sorrow  ;  but  as  you  may  be  now  in  a  situation  in 
which  you  may  obtain  some  substantial  advantage  to  yourself, 
for  God's  sake  improve  the  opportunity  to  the  utmost,  and 
don't  let  dreams  of  empty  fame  (of  which  you  have  had 
enough  in  conscience)  carry  you  away  from  your  solid  inte- 
rests. I  return  you  many  thanks  for  Fox's  letter  ;  I  mean 
for  your  intention  to  make  him  write  one — for  as  your  good 
intentions  always  satisfy  your  conscience,  and  that  you  seem 
to  think  the  carrying  of  them  into  execution  to  be  a  mere 
trifling  ceremony,  as  well  omitted  as  not,  your  friends  must 
always  take  the  will  for  the  deed.  I  will  forgive  you,  how- 
ever, on  condition  that  you  will  for  once  in  your  life  consider 
that  though  the  will  alone  may  perfectly  satisfy  yourseK,  your 
friends  would  be  a  little  more  gratified  if  they  were  some- 
times to  see  it  accompanied  by  the  deed — and  let  me  be  the 
first  upon  whom  you  try  the  experiment.  If  the  people  here 
are  not  to  share  the  fate  of  their  patrons,  but  are  suffered  to 
continue  in  the  government  of  this  country,  I  believe  you  will 
have  it  in  your  power,  as  I  am  certain  it  will  be  in  your  in- 
clination, to  fortify  my  claims  upon  them,  by  recommendation 
from  your  side  of  the  water,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  insure 
to  me  what  I  have  a  right  to  expect  from  them,  but  of  which 
I  can  have  no  certainty  without  that  assistance.  I  wish  the 
present  people  may  continue  here,  because  I  certainly  have 
claims  upon  them,  and  considering  the  footing   that   Lord 

C and  Charles  Fox  are  on,  a  recommendation  from  the 

latter  would  now  have  every  weiglit  ;  it  would  be  dramng  a 
bill  upon  Government  here,  payable  at  sight,  which  they 
dare  not  protest.  So,  dear  Dick,  I  shall  rely  upon  you  that 
tliis  will  really  be  done  ;  and,  to  confess  the  truth,  unless  it 
be  done  and  speedily,  I  shall  be  completely  ruined." 

The  delightful  ndiveU  of  this  letter,  and  its  lialf-pro- 
voked  tone  of  good  advice  and  superior  wisdom,  throws 
a  humorous   gleam  over  the   situation.      That  it  was 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  137 

Sheridan's  bounden  duty  "  for  God's  sake  "  to  take  care 
that  no  foolish  ideas  should  prevent  him  from  securing 
substantial  advantage  to  himself,  and  in  the  meantime  and 
at  once  an  appointment  for  his  brother,  is  too  far  beyond 
question  to  be  discussed ;  but  the  writer  cannot  but  feel 
an  impatient  conviction  that  Dick  is  quite  capable  of 
neglecting  both  for  some  flummery  about  fame,  which  is 
really  almost  too  much  to  be  put  up  with,  Charles  Sheri- 
dan got  his  appointment,  which  was  that  of  Secretary 
of  War  in  Ireland,  a  post  which  he  enjoyed  for  many  years. 
But  the  "  substantial  advantage  "  which  he  considered  it 
his  brother's  duty  to  secure  for  himself  never  came. 

Sheridan's  first  taste  of  the  sweets  of  office  was  a  very 
short  one.  The  Rockingham  ministry  remained  in  but 
four  months,  during  which  time  they  succeeded  in 
clearing  away  a  considerable  portion  of  the  accumu- 
lated uncleanness  which  had  recently  neutralised  the 
power  of  the  House  of  Commons.  The  measures  passed 
in  this  brief  period  dealt  a  fatal  blow  at  that  overwhelm- 
ing influence  of  the  Crown  which  had  brought  about  so 
many  disasters,  and,  by  a  stern  cutting  off  of  the  means 
of  corruption,  "  mark  the  date  when  the  direct  bribery  of 
members  absolutely  ceased,"  which  is  the  highest  praise. 
But  Lord  Eockingham  died  and  Lord  Shelburne  suc- 
ceeded him,  who  represented  but  one  side  of  the  party, 
and  the  withdrawal  of  Fox  from  the  ministry  brought 
Sheridan  back — it  is  said  partly  against  his  own  judg- 
ment, which  says  all  the  more  for  his  fidelity  to  his 
leader — into  the  irresponsibility  and  unprofitableness  of 
opposition.  The  famous  Coalition,  which  came  into  being 
a  year  later,  restored  him  to  office  as  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury.    Sheridan  went  on  forming  his  style  as  a  pohti 


138  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

cal  speaker  with  great  care  and  perseverance  through  all 
these  vicissitudes.  At  first  he  is  said  to  have  written  his 
speeches  out  carefully,  and  even  learnt  them  by  heart, 
"using  for  this  purpose,"  Moore  tells  us,  "the  same  soil 
of  copy-books  which  he  had  employed  in  the  first  rough 
draughts  of  his  plays."  Afterwards  a  scribble  on  a  piece 
of  paper  was  enough  to  guide  him,  and  sometimes  it  is 
Tery  evident  he  made  a  telling  retort  or  a  bold  attack 
ts^ithout  preparation  at  all.  One  of  these,  preserved  in  the 
collection  of  his  speeches,  has  a  vivid  gleam  of  restrained 
excitement  and  personal  feeling  in  it  which  gives  it  an 
interest  more  human  than  political.  It  occurred  in 
the  discussion  by  the  House  of  the  preliminaries  of 
the  treaty  afterwards  known  as  the  Treaty  of  Ver- 
sailles, in  which  the  independence  of  America  was  form- 
ally recognised.  In  Sheridan's  speech  on  the  subject 
he  had  referred  pointedly  to  Pitt,  who  had  become 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  in  Lord  Shelburne's  ad- 
ministration, and  who  had  objected  to  something  in  a 
previous  debate  as  inconsistent  with  the  established 
usage  of  the  House.  "  This  convinced  him,"  Sheridan 
said,  "that  the  right  honourable  gentleman  was  more  a 
practical  politician  than  an  experienced  one,"  and  that 
"his  years  and  his  very  early  political  exaltation  had 
not  permitted  him  to  look  whether  there  had  been  pre- 
cedents, or  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  journals  of  the 
House."  Pitt  resented  this  assault  upon  his  youth  as 
every  young  man  is  apt  to  do,  and  did  his  best  to  turn 
the  war  into  the  enemy's  camp.  Here  is  the  somewhat 
ungenerous  assault  he  made,  one,  however,  which  has 
been  repeated  almost  as  often  as  there  have  been  eminent 
literary  men  in  public  life  : — 


[V.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  139 

"  No  man  admired  more  than  he  did  the  abilities  of  that 
right  honourable  gentleman,  the  elegant  sallies  of  his  thought, 
the  gay  effusions  of  his  fancy,  his  dramatic  turns,  and  his 
epigrammatic  points  ;  and  if  they  were  reserved  for  a 
proper  stage,  they  would  no  doubt  receive  what  the  honour- 
able gentleman's  abilities  always  did  receive,  the  plaudits  of 
the  audience  ;  and  it  would  be  his  fortune  '  sin  plausu  gaudere 
theatrV  But  this  was  not  the  proper  scene  for  the  exhibi- 
tion of  these  elegancies  ;  and  he  therefore  must  beg  leave  to 
call  the  attention  of  the  house  to  the  serious  consideration  ol 
the  very  important  questions  now  before  them." 

This  unhandsome  reference  to  Sheridan's  theatrical 
fame  was  one  of  those  uncalled-for  and  unworthy  attacks 
which  give  the  person  assailed  an  enormous  advantage 
over  the  assailant ;  and  Sheridan  was  quite  equal  to  the 
occasion. 

"  Mr.  Sheridan  then  rose  to  an  explanation,  which  being 
made,  he  took  notice  of  that  particular  sort  of  personality 
which  the  right  honourable  gentleman  had  thought  proper 
to  introduce.  He  need  not  comment  upon  it — the  propriety, 
the  taste,  the  gentlemanly  point  of  it,  must  have  been  obvious 
to  the  House.  But,  said  Mr.  Sheridan,  let  me  assure  the 
right  honourable  gentleman  that  I  do  now,  and  will  at  any 
time  when  he  chooses  to  repeat  this  sort  of  allusion,  meet  it 
with  the  most  sincere  good  humour.  Nay,  I  will  say  more, 
flattered  and  encouraged  by  the  righ  t  honourable  gentleman's 
panegyric  on  my  talents,  if  I  ever  again  engage  in  the  com- 
positions he  alludes  to,  I  may  be  tempted  to  an  act  of  pre- 
sumption— to  attempt  an  improvement  on  one  of  Ben  Jonson's 
best  characters — the  character  of  the  Angry  Boy  in  the 
Alchijmist."  ^ 

Apart  from  sparrings  of  this  description,  however,  in 

which  his  light  hand  and  touch  were  always  effective, 

^  This  threat  was  carried  out  by  the  issue  of  a  pretended  play- 
bill, in  which  not  only  was  the  part  of  the  Angi-y  Boy  allotted  to 
Pitt,  but  the  audacious  wit  proceeded  to  assign  that  of  Surly  to 
"His "1 


140  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Sheridan  gradually  proceeded  to  take  a  larger  part  in  the 
business  of  the  Plouse,  his  speeches  being  full  of  energy, 
lucidity,  and  point,  as  well  as  of  unfailing  humour.  But 
it  was  not  till  the  celebrated  impeachment  of  Warren 
Hastings,  one  of  the  most  dramatic  episodes  in  parlia- 
mentary history,  that  he  rose  to  the  fulness  of  his 
eloquence  and  power.  The  story  of  that  episode  has 
been  often  told :  almost  more  often  and  more  fully  than 
any  other  chapter  of  modern  history :  and  everybody 
knows  how  and  why  it  was  that — having  added  to  the 
wealth  of  his  chiefs  and  the  power  of  the  nation,  and 
with  a  consciousness  in  his  mind  of  having  done  much 
to  open  up  and  confirm  an  immense  new  empire  to  his 
country — this  Indian  ruler  and  lawgiver,  astonished, 
found  himself  confronted  by  the  indignation  of  all  that 
was  best  and  greatest  in  England,  and  ere  he  knew 
was  placed  at  the  bar  to  account  for  what  he  had 
done,  the  treasures  he  had  exacted,  and  the  oppressions 
with  which  he  had  crushed  the  native  states  and  their 
rulers. 

"  Is  India  free  ?  and  does  she  wear  her  plumed 
And  jewelled  turban  with  a  smile  of  peace  ? 
Or  do  we  grind  her  still  ?" 

Cowper  had  said  as  he  opened  his  scanty  newspaper  in  the 
fireside  quiet  at  Olney  some  time  before.  The  manner 
in  which  such  a  prize  was  added  to  the  British  crown 
has  slipped  from  the  general  memory  nowadays,  and 
we  are  apt  to  forget  how  many  deeds  were  done  on 
that  argument  that  would  not  bear  the  light  of  public 
inquiry.  But  this  great  trial  will  always  stand  as  a  proof 
that  the  time  had  arrived  in  the  history  of   England 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  141 

when  she  Vt^ould  no  longer  tolerate  the  highhanded  pro- 
ceedings of  the  conqueror,  and  that  even  national  aggrand- 
isement was  not  a  strong  enough  inducement  to  make 
her  overlook  injustice  and  cruelty  though  in  the  ends  of 
the  earth. 

It  was  Burke  who  originated  the  idea  of  impeachment 
for  Warren  Hastings  :  it  was  Pitt,  by  his  unexpected 
vote  with  the  accusing  party,  who  made  it  practicable; 
but  Sheridan  was  the  hero  of  the  occasion.  One  of  the 
worst  charges  against  Hastings  was  his  conduct  to  the 
princesses  of  Oude,  the  old  and  helpless  Begums  whom  he 
imprisoned  and  ill  used  in  order  to  draw  from  them  their 
treasures ;  and  this  moving  subject,  the  one  of  all  others 
best  adapted  for  him,  it  was  given  to  Sheridan  to  set 
forth  in  all  the  atrocity  of  its  circumstances,  and  with  all 
the  power  of  eloquent  indignation  of  which  he  was 
master,  before  the  House,  as  one  of  the  grounds  for  the 
impeachment.  The  speech  was  ill  reported,  and  has  not 
been  preserved  in  a  form  which  does  it  justice,  but  we 
have  such  details  of  its  effect  as  have  rarely  been  laid  up 
in  history.  The  following  account,  corroborated  by 
many  witnesses,  is  taken  from  the  summary  given  at  the 
head  of  the  extracts  from  this  oration  in  the  collection 
of  Sheridan's  speeches  : — 

"  For  five  hours  and  a  half  Mr.  Sheridan  commanded  the 
universal  interest  and  admiration  of  the  house  (which  from 
the  expectation  of  the  day  was  uncommonly  crowded)  by  an 
oration  of  almost  unexampled  excellence,  uniting  the  most 
convincing  closeness  and  accuracy  of  argument  with  the  most 
luminous  precision  and  perspicuity  of  language,  and  alter- 
nately giving  form  and  energy  to  truth  by  solid  and  substantial 
reasoning ;  and  enlightening  the  most  extensive  and  involved 
mbjects  with  the  purest  clearness  of  logic  and  the  brightest 


142  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

splendours  of  rlietoric.  Every  prejudice,  every  prepossession, 
was  gradually  overcome  by  the  force  of  this  extraordinary 
combination  of  keen  but  liberal  discrimination  ;  of  brilliant 
yet  argumentative  wit.  So  fascinated  were  the  auditors  by  his 
eloquence  that  when  Mr.  Sheridan  sat  down  the  whole  house 
— the  members,  peers,  and  strangers — involuntarily  joined 
in  a  tumult  of  applause,  and  adopted  a  mode  of  expressing 
their  admiration,  new  and  irregular  in  the  house,  by  loudly 
and  repeatedly  clapping  with  their  hands.  Mr.  Burke  declared 
it  to  be  the  most  astonishing  effort  of  eloquence,  argument, 
and  wit  united  of  which  there  was  any  record  or  tradition. 
Mr.  Fox  said,  '  All  that  he  had  ever  heard — all  that  he  had 
ever  read — when  compared  with  it  dwindled  into  nothing, 
and  vanished  like  vapour  before  the  sun.'  Mr.  Pitt  acknow- 
ledged that  it  siu'passed  all  the  eloquence  of  ancient  or  of 
modern  times,  and  possessed  everything  that  geniiis  or  art 
could  furnish  to  agitate  and  control  the  human  mind.  The 
effects  it  produced  were  proportioned  to  its  merits.  After  a 
considerable  suspension  of  the  debate,  one  of  the  friends  of 
Mr.  Hastings — Mr.  Burgess — with  some  difficulty  obtained 
for  a  short  time  a  hearing  ;  but,  finding  the  house  too  strongly 
affected  by  what  they  had  heard  to  listen  to  him  with  favour, 
sat  down  again.  Several  members  confessed  they  had  come 
down  strongly  prepossessed  in  favour  of  the  person  accused, 
and  imagined  nothing  less  than  a  miracle  could  have  wrought 
so  entire  a  revolution  in  their  sentiments.  Others  declared 
that  though  they  could  not  resist  the  conviction  that  flashed 
upon  their  minds,  yet  they  wished  to  have  leave  to  cool  before 
they  were  called  upon  to  vote  ;  and  though  they  were  per- 
suaded it  would  require  another  miracle  to  produce  another 
change  in  their  opinions,  yet  for  the  sake  of  decorum  they 
thought  it  proper  that  the  debate  should  be  adjourned.  Mr. 
Fox  and  Mr.  A.  Taylor  strongly  opposed  this  proposition, 
contending  that  it  was  not  less  absurd  than  unparliamentary 
to  defer  coming  to  a  vote  for  no  other  reason  that  had  been 
alleged  than  because  members  were  too  firmly  convinced  ;  but 
Mr.  Pitt  concurring  with  the  opinions  of  the  former,  the 
debate  was  adjourned." 

What  Pitt  said  was  that  they  were  all  still  "  under 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  143 

the  wand  of  the  enchanter;"  while  other  members  indi- 
vidually made  similar  acknowledgments.  "  Sir  William 
Dalton  immediately  moved  an  adjournment,  confessing 
that  in  the  state  of  mind  in  which  Mr.  Sheridan's  speech 
had  left  him  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  give  a  determi- 
nate opinion."  That  great  audience,  the  most  difficult, 
the  most  important  in  Christendom,  was  overwhelmed 
like  a  company  of  sympathetic  women,  by  the  quick 
communicating  thrill  of  intellectual  excitement,  of  gener- 
ous ardour,  of  wonder,  terror,  pity.  It  was  like  a  fine 
intoxication  which  nobody  could  resist.  Here  is  another 
amusing  instance  of  the  influence  it  exercised : — 

"  The  late  Mr.  Logan  .  .  .  author  of  a  most  masterly  de- 
fence of  Mr.  Hastings,  went  that  day  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons prepossessed  for  the  accused,  and  against  tlie  accuser. 
At  the  expiration  of  the  first  hour  he  said  to  a  friend,  '  All 
this  is  declamatory  assertion  without  proof ; '  when  the 
second  was  finished,  '  This  is  a  most  wonderful  oration.' 
At  the  close  of  the  third,  '  Mr.  Hastings  has  acted  most  un- 
justifiably ; '  the  fourth,  '  Mr.  Hastings  is  a  most  atrocious 
criminal  ; '  and  at  last,  '  Of  all  monsters  of  iniquity,  the 
most  enormous  is  Warren  Hastings  ! '  " 

It  was  no  wonder  if  the  astonished  members,  with  a 
feeling  that  this  transformation  was  a  kind  of  magic, 
unaccountable  by  any  ordinary  rule,  were  afraid  of 
themselves,  arid  dared  not  venture  on  any  practical  step 
until  they  had  cooled  down  a  little.  It  is  the  most  re- 
markable instance  on  record  in  modern  times  of  the 
amazing  power  of  oratory.  The  public  interest  had 
flagged  in  the  matter,  notwithstanding  the  vehement 
addresses  of  Burke,  but  it  awoke  with  a  leap  of  excite- 
ment at  this  magic  touch ;  and  when,  some  months  later, 
the  trial  took  place  according  to  an  old  and  long-disused 


144  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

formula  in  Westminster  Hall,  the  whole  world  flocked  to 
listen.  Macaulay  has  painted  the  scene  for  us  in  one  of 
his  most  picturesque  pages.  The  noble  hall  full  of  noble 
people ;  the  peers  in  their  ermine ;  the  judges  in  their 
red  robes ;  the  grey  old  walls  hung  with  scarlet ;  the 
wonderful  audience  in  the  galleries ;  the  Queen  herself 
with  all  her  ladies,  among  them  the  lively,  weary  little 
frizzled  head  with  so  much  in  it,  of  Fanny  Burney,  pre- 
judiced yet  impressionable,  looking  over  Her  Majesty's 
shoulder,  and  such  faces  as  those  of  the  lovely  Duchess 
of  Devonshire,  the  haughty  beauty  of  Mrs.  Fitzherbert, 
the  half-angelic  sweetness  of  Sheridan's  wife,  with  many 
another  less  known  to  fame,  and  all  the  men  whose 
names  confer  a  glory  on  their  age.  "  In  the  midst  of 
the  blaze  of  red  draperies  an  open  space  had  been  fitted 
up  with  green  benches  and  tables  for  the  Commons." 
The  great  commoners  who  conducted  the  prosecution, 
the  managers  of  the  impeachment  as  they  were  called, 
appeared  in  full  dress,  even  Fox,  the  negligent,  "  paying 
the  illustrious  tribunal  the  compliment  of  wearing  a 
bag  and  sword."  Amidst  these  public  prosecutors  the 
two  kindred  forms  of  Burke  and  Sheridan,  both  with  a 
certain  bluntness  of  feature  which  indicated  their 
race,  the  latter  at  least,  with  those  brilliant  eyes 
which  are  so  often  the  mark  of  genius,  were  the  prin- 
cipal figures. 

This  wonderful  scene  lasted  for  months  :  and  it 
may  be  supposed  what  an  exciting  entertainment  was 
thus  provided  for  society,  ever  anxious  for  a  new 
sensation.  Burke  spoke  for  four  days,  and  with  great 
effect.  But  it  was  when  it  came  to  the  turn  of 
Sheridan  to  repeat  his  wonderful  effort,  and  once  more 


iv.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  145 

plead  the  cause  of  the  robbed  and  insulted  Princesses, 
that  public  excitement  rose  to  its  height.  -  "  The  curio- 
sity of  the  public  to  hear  him  was  unbounded.  His 
sparkling  and  highly  finished  declamation  lasted  two 
days  :  but  the  hall  was  crowded  to  suffocation  the  whole 
time.  It  was  said  that  fifty  guineas  had  been  paid  for  a 
single  ticket."  His  speech,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  extended 
over  four  days,  and  the  trial,  which  had  begun  in 
February,  had  lasted  out  till  June,  dragging  its  slow 
length  along,  when  it  came  to  this  climax.  Many  of 
his  colleagues  considered  this  speech  greatly  inferior 
to  the  first  outburst  of  eloquence  on  the  same  subject 
with  which  he  had  electrified  the  House  of  Commons. 
"  Sheridan's  speech  on  the  Begums  in  the  House  admir- 
able ;  in  Westminster  Hall  contemptible,"  Lord  Granville 
said,  and  such  was  also  the  opinion  of  Fox.  But  a 
greater  than  either  was  of  a  different  opinion.  In  the 
sitting  of  the  House  held  on  the  6th  of  June,  after  an 
exciting  morning  spent  in  Westminster  Hall,  a  certain 
Mr.  Burgess,  the  same  pertinacious  person  who  had  risen 
to  speak  in  favour  of  Hastings,  while  still  St.  Stephens 
was  resounding  with  applause  and  inarticulate  with  emo- 
tion on  the  day  of  Sheridan's  first  speech,  got  up  once 
more,  while  all  minds  were  again  occupied  by  the  same 
subject,  to  call  the  attention  of  the  House  to  some  small 
matter  of  finance.  He  was  transfixed  immediately  by 
the  spear  of  Burke.  "  He  could  not  avoid  ofi"ering  his 
warmest  congratulations  to  the  honourable  gentleman 
on  his  having  chosen  that  glorious  day,  after  the  triumph 
of  the  morning,  to  bring  forward  a  business  of  such  an 
important  nature,"  cried  the  great  orator  with  con- 
temptuous sarcasm ;   and  he  went   on   to  applaud  the 

L 


146  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

powerful  mind  of  the  stolid  partisan  who  had  proved 
himself  capable  of  such  an  effort,  "after  every  other 
member  had  been  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  and 
admiration  at  the  wonderful  eloquence  of  his  friend  Mr. 
Sheridan,  who  had  that  day  again  surprised  the  thou- 
sands who  hung  with  rapture  on  his  accents,  by  such 
a  display  of  talents  as  was  unparalleled  in  the  annals 
of  oratory,  and  so  did  the  highest  honour  to  himself,  to 
that  House,  and  to  the  country." 

The  reader  will  be  perhaps  more  interested,  in  this 
deluge  of  applause,  to  hear  how  the  wife,  of  whom  perhaps 
Sheridan  was  not  worthy,  yet  who  was  not  herself  without 
blame,  a  susceptible  creature,  with  a  fine  nature  always 
showing  under  the  levities  and  excitements  that  circum- 
stances had  made  natural  to  her,  exulted  in  his  triumph. 

"  I  have  delayed  writing  (the  letter  is  to  her  sister-in-law) 
till  I  could  gratify  myself  and  you  by  sending  you  the  news 
of  our  dear  Dick's  triumph, — of  our  triumph  I  may  call  it, — 
for  surely  no  one  in  the  slightest  degree  connected  with  him 
but  must  feel  proud  and  happy.  It  is  impossible,  my  dear 
woman,  to  convey  to  you  the  delight,  the  astonishment,  the 
adoration,  he  has  excited  in  the  breasts  of  every  class  of 
people.  Every  party  prejudice  has  been  overcome  by  a  dis- 
play of  genius,  eloquence,  and  goodness,  which  no  one  with 
anything  like  a  heart  about  them  could  have  listened  to 
without  being  the  wiser  and  the  better  all  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  What  must  my  feelings  be,  you  only  can  imagine. 
To  tell  you  the  truth,  it  is  with  some  diflSculty  that  I  can 
*  let  down  my  mind,'  as  Mr.  Burke  said  afterwards,  to  talk  or 
think  on  that  or  any  other  subject.  But  pleasure  too  exquisite 
becomes  pain,  and  I  am  at  this  moment  suffering  from  the 
delightful  anxieties  of  last  week." 

This  triumph,  however,  like  Sheridan's  previous  suc- 
cesses, would  seem  to  have  been  won  by  a  fit  of  accidental 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE,  147 

exertion ;  for  it  was  still  as  difficult  as  ever  to  keep  him 
in  harness  and  secure  his  attention.  A  letter  quoted  in 
Moore's  life  from  Burke  to  Mrs.  Sheridan  makes  the 
difficulty  very  apparent.  The  great  statesman  begins 
by  skilful  praise  of  Sheridan's  abilities  to  propitiate  his 
wife :  and  then  implores  Mrs.  Sheridan's  aid  in  "  pre- 
vailing upon  Mr.  Sheridan  to  be  with  us  this  day  at  half 
after  three  in  the  Committee."  The  paymaster  of  Oude 
was  to  be  examined,  he  adds  with  anxious  emphasis. 
"  Oude  is  Mr.  Sheridan's  particular  province ;  and  I  do 
most  seriously  ask  that  he  would  favour  us  with  his 
assistance."  This  proves  how  little  he  was  to  be  relied 
upon,  even  now,  in  the  very  moment  of  triumph.  Yet 
on  the  very  next  page  we  read  of  the  elaborate  manner 
in  which  his  speech  was  prepared  and  of  the  exertions 
of  his  domestic  helpers  in  arranging  and  classifying  his 
materials;  and  he  seems  from  Moore's  account  to 
have  laboured  indefatigably  to  acquire  the  necessary 
knowledge. 

"  There  is  a  large  pamphlet  of  Mr.  Hastings,"  Moore  tells  us, 
"  consisting  of  more  than  two  hundred  pages,  copied  out  mostly 
in  her  (Mrs.  Sheridan's)  writing,  with  some  assistance  from 
another  female  hand.  The  industry,  indeed,  of  all  about  him 
was  called  into  requisition  for  the  great  occasion  :  some  busy 
with  the  pen  and  scissors  making  extracts,  some  pasting  and 
stitching  his  scattered  memorandums  in  their  places,  so  that 
there  was  scarcely  a  member  of  his  family  that  could  not  boast 
of  having  contrilauted  his  share  to  the  mechanical  construction 
of  this  speech.  The  pride  of  its  success  was  of  course  equally 
participated  :  and  Edwards,  a  favourite  servant  of  Mr.  Sheri- 
dan, was  long  celebrated  for  his  professed  imitation  of  the 
manner  in  which  his  master  delivered  (what  seems  to  have 
struck  Edwards  as  the  finest  part  of  the  speech)  his  closing 
words,  '  My  Lords,  I  have  done.'  " 


148  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Macaulay  informs  us  that  Sheridan  "  contrived  with 
a  knowledge  of  stage  effect,  which  his  father  might  have 
envied,  to  sink  back  as  if  exhausted  into  the  arms  of 
Burke,  who  hugged  him  with  the  energy  of  generous 
admiration  "  when  the  spe'ech  was  done. 

In  every  way  this  was  the  highest  point  of  Sheridan's 
career.  Engaged  in  the  greatest  work  to  which  civilised 
man  can  turn  his  best  faculties,  the  government  of  his 
country,  either  potentially  or  by  criticism,  censure,  and 
the  restraining  power  of  opposition,  he  had  made  his 
way  without  previous  training,  or  any  adventitious  cir- 
cumstances in  his  favour,  to  the  very  front  rank  of  states- 
men. When  wrong  was  to  be  chastised  and  right  estab- 
lished, he  was  one  of  the  foremost  in  the  work.  His 
party  did  nothing  without  him  :  his  irregular  ways,  the 
difficulty  which  there  was  even  in  getting  him  to  attend 
a  meeting,  were  all  overlooked.  Eather  would  the  Whig 
leaders  invent,  like  the  proprietors  of  the  theatre  in 
former  days,  a  snare  in  which  to  take  him,  or  plead  with 
his  wife  for  her  assistance,  than  do  without  Sheridan. 
This  was  what  the  player's  son,  the  dramatist  and  stage 
manager,  who  was  nobody,  without  education,  without 
fortune,  had  come  to.  He  was  thirty-seven  when  he 
stood  upon  this  apex  of  applause  and  honour  —  al 
mezzo  di  cammin  di  nostra  vita.  Had  he  died  then, 
the  wonder  of  his  fame  and  greatness  would  have 
been  lessened  by  no  painful  drawback.  If  he  were 
extravagant,  reckless,  given  to  the  easier  vices,  so  were 
other  men  of  his  generation — and  pecuniary  embar- 
rassment only  becomes  appalling  when  it  reaches  the 
stage  of  actual  want,  and  when  squalor  and  misery 
follow  in  its  train.     We   linger   upon    the   picture   of 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  149 

these  triumphs — triumphs  as  legitimate,  as  noble,  and 
worthy  as  ever  man  won — in  which  if  perhaps  there 
was  no  such  enthusiasm  of  generous  sentiment  as  moved 
Burke,  there  was  at  least  the  sincere  movement  of  a 
more  volatile  nature  against  cruelty  and  injustice.  It 
does  not  in  reality  enhance  the  greatness  of  a  mental 
effort  that  it  is  made  in  the  cause  of  humanity — but  it 
enormously  increases  its  weight  and  influence  with  man- 
kind. And  it  was  an  extraordinary  piece  of  good  fortune 
for  Sheridan,  in  a  career  made  up  hitherto  of  happy  hits 
and  splendid  pieces  of  luck,  that  he  should  happily  have 
lighted  upon  a  subject  for  his  greatest  effort,  which 
should  not  only  afford  scope  for  all  his  gifts,  his  impul- 
sive generosity  and  tenderheartedness,  as  well,  we  may 
add,  as  that  tendency  to  claptrap  and  inflated  diction 
which  is  almost  always  successful  with  the  multitude, — 
but  at  the  same  time  should  secure  for  himself  as  the 
magnanimous  advocate  a  large  share  in  that  sympathy 
of  the  audience  for  the  helpless  and  injured,  which  his 
eloquence  raised  into  temporary  passion.  His  subject, 
his  oratorical  power,  the  real  enthusiasm  which  inspired 
him,  even  if  that  enthusiasm  took  fire  at  its  own  flame, 
and  was  more  on  account  of  Brinsley  Sheridan  than 
of  the  Begums,  all  helped  in  the  magical  eff'ect.  Even 
poor  Mrs.  Sheridan,  who  knew  better  than  any  one 
wherein  the  orator  was  defective,  exulted  in  his  triumph 
as  "a  display  of  genius,  and  eloquence,  and  goodness." 
He  was  the  champion  of  humanity,  the  defender  of  the 
weak  and  helpless.  No  doubt,  in  the  glow  of  interest 
in  his  own  subject  to  which  he  had  worked  himself 
up,  he  felt  all  this  more  fervently  even  than  his  audience, 
which  again  added  infinitely  to  his  power. 


150  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

The  trial  came  to  nothing,  as  everybody  knows.  It 
lingered  over  years  of  tedious  discussion,  and  through 
worlds  of  wearisome  verbiage,  and  only  got  decided  in 
1795,  when  the  accused,  whose  sins  by  this  time  had 
been  half  forgotten,  whose  foolish  plans  for  himself  were 
altogether  out  of  mind,  and  whose  good  qualities  had 
come  round  again  to  the  recollection  of  the  world,  was 
acquitted.  By  that  time  the  breaking  up  of  the  party 
which  had  brought  him  to  the  bar,  so  touchingly  described 
by  Macaulay,  had  come  to  pass ;  and  though  Sheridan 
still  held  by  Fox,  Burke  had  fallen  apart  from  them 
both  for  ever.  Professor  Smyth,  in  his  valuable  little 
Memoir  of  Sheridan,  gives  a  description  of  the  orator's 
preparation  for  the  postscriptal  speech  which  he  had  to 
deliver  six  years  after  in  1794,  in  answer  to  the  pleas  of 
Hastings'  counsel,  which  is  very  characteristic.  Sheridan 
arrived  suddenly  one  evening  at  the  country  residence 
where  his  son  Tom  was  staying  with  Smyth  the  tutor — 
with  his  chaise  full  of  papers,  and  announced  his  in- 
tention of  getting  through  them  all,  and  being  ready 
with  his  reply  the  day  after  to-morrow.  "The  day 
after  to-morrow  !  this  day  six  months  you  mean,"  cried 
Smyth  in  consternation.  Altogether  Sheridan  would 
seem  to  have  taken  five  or  six  days  to  this  trying  work, 
recalling  the  recollection  of  his  highest  triumph,  and 
refreshing  his  memory  as  to  the  facts,  after  a  long  and 
sad  interval,  filled  with  many  misfortunes  and  down- 
falls.— He  never  stirred  "out  of  his  room  for  three  days 
and  evenings,  and  each  of  the  three  nights,  till  the  motes, 
he  told  me,  were  coming  into  his  eyes,  though  the  strongest 
and  finest  that  ever  man  was  blest  with,"  Smyth  informs 
us.     He  dined  every  day  with  the  tutor  and  Tom,  the 


IV.]  PUBLIC  LIFE.  151 

bright  and  delightful  boy  who  was  a  sweeter  and  more 
innocent  reproduction  of  himself — and  during  these  meals 
Smyth  found  that  it  was  his  part  to  listen,  "  making  a 
slight  occasional  comment  on  what  he  told  me  he  had 
been  doing." 

"  On  the  morning  appointed  he  went  off  early  in  a  chaise 
and  four  to  Grosvenor  Street,  and  none  of  us,  Tom  told  me, 
were  to  come  near  him  till  the  speech  was  over.  When  he 
came  into  the  manager's  box  he  was  in  full  dross,  and  his 
countenance  had  assumed  an  ashen  colour  that  I  had  never 
before  observed.  No  doubt  Cicero  himself  must  have  quailed 
before  so  immense  and  magnificent  an  audience  as  was  now 
assembled  to  hear  him.  He  was  evidently  tried  to  the  utmost, 
every  nerve  and  faculty  within  him  put  into  complete  requi- 
sition." 

No  doubt  Sheridan  felt  the  ghost  of  his  own  glory 
rising  up  as  a  rival  to  him  in  this  renewed  and  so 
changed  appearance.  The  tutor  felt  that  "his  aspect 
was  that  of  a  perfect  orator,  and  thought  he  was  listen- 
ing to  some  being  of  a  totally  different  nature  from  him- 
self : "  but  this  postscriptal  harangue  has  had  no  record 
of  fame.  And  already  the  leaf  was  turned  over,  the 
dark  side  of  life  come  upward,  and  Sheridan's  glory  on 
the  wane. 


CHAPTER  V. 


MIDDLE   AGE. 


The  middle  of  life  is  the  testing-ground  of  character  and 
strength.  There  are  many  who  hold  a  foremost  place  in 
the  heat  of  youth,  but  sink  behind  when  that  first  energy 
is  played  out ;  and  there  are  many  whose  follies  happily 
die,  and  whose  true  strength  is  only  known  when  serious 
existence  with  its  weights  and  responsibilities  comes  upon 
them.  Many  are  the  revelations  of  this  sober  age.  Sins 
which  were  but  venial  in  the  boy  grow  fatal  in  the  man. 
The  easy  indolence,  the  careless  good  fellowship,  the 
rollicking  humour  which  we  laugh  at  while  we  condemn 
them  in  youth,  become  coarser,  vulgarer,  meaner  in  ma- 
turity, and  acquire  a  character  of  selfishness  and  brutality 
which  was  not  theirs  in  the  time  of  hope.  In  Sheridan's 
age,  above  all  others,  the  sins  of  a  Charles  Surface  were 
easily  pardoned  to  a  young  man.  He  was  better  liked 
for  being  something  of  a  rake;  his  prodigality  and 
neglect  of  all  prudent  precautions,  his  rashness  in  every 
enterprise,  his  headlong  career,  which  it  was  always  be- 
lieved something  might  turn  up  to  guide  into  a  better 
development  at  the  end,  were  proofs  of  the  generosity 
and  truth  of  a  character  concealing  nothing.     All  this 


CHAP,  v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  153 

was  natural  at  five-and-twenty.  But  at  thirty-five, 
and  still  more  at  forty,  the  world  gets  weary  of  Charles 
Surface,  His  lightheartedness  becomes  want  of  feel- 
ing,— his  rashness  unmanly  folly, — his  shortcomings 
are  everywhere  judged  by  a  different  standard ;  and 
the  middle-aged  man  whom  neither  regard  for  his 
honour,  his  duty,  nor  his  family,  can  curb  and  restrain, 
who  takes  his  own  way  whoever  suffers,  and  is  continu- 
ally playing  at  the  highest  stakes  for  mere  life,  is  deserted 
by  public  opinion,  and  can  be  defended  by  his  friends 
mth  only  faltering  excuses.  Sheridan  had  been  such  a 
man  in  his  youth.  He  had  dared  everything,  and  won 
much  from  fate.  Without  a  penny  to  begin  with,  or 
any  of  that  capital  of  industry,  perseverance,  and  deter- 
mination which  serves  instead  of  money,  he  got  pos- 
session of  and  enjoyed  all  the  luxuries  of  wealth.  He 
did  more  than  this ;  he  became  one  of  the  leading  names 
in  England,  foremost  on  imperial  occasions,  and  known 
wherever  news  of  England  was  prized  or  read;  and 
through  all  his  earlier  years  the  world  had  laughed  at 
his  shifts,  his  hairbreadth  escapes,  the  careless  pro- 
digality of  nature,  which  made  it  certain  that  by  a 
sudden  and  violent  effort  at  the  end  he  could  always 
make  up  for  all  deficiencies.     It  was  a  jest  that 

"  Of  wit,  of  taste,  of  fancy,  we'll  debate, 
If  Sheridan  for  once  be  not  too  late." 

And  in  the  artificial  world  of  the  theatre,  the  recklessness 
of  the  man  and  all  his  eccentricities  had  something 
in  them  which  suited  that  abode  of  strong  contrasts 
and  effects.  But  after  a  course  of  years  the  world 
began   to   get  tired   of   always   waiting   for   Sheridan, 


154  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

always  finding  that  he  had  forgotten  his  word  and  'his 
appointments,  and  never  read,  much  less  answered,  his 
letters.  There  came  a  moment  when  everybody  with 
one  accord  ceased  and  even  refused  to  be  amused  by 
these  eccentricities  any  longer,  and  found  them  to  be 
stale  jests,  insolences,  and  characterised  by  a  selfish  dis- 
regard of  everybody's  comfort  but  his  own. 

This  natural  protest  no  doubt  was  accompanied  by  a 
gradual  development  of  all  that  was  most  insupportable 
in  Sheridan's  nature.  The  entire  absence  in  him  of  the 
faculty  of  self-control  grew  with  his  advancing  years ;  but 
it  was  not  till  Providence  had  interposed  and  deprived 
him  of  the  wife  who,  in  her  sweet  imperfection,  had  yet 
done  much  for  him,  that  any  serious  change  happened  in 
his  fortunes.  He  lost  his  father  in  1788,  very  shortly 
after  his  great  triumph.  There  is  no  very  evident  sign 
that  Thomas  Sheridan  ever  changed  his  mind  in  respect 
to  his  sons,  or  ceased  to  prefer  the  prim  and  prudent 
Charles,  who  had  bidden  his  brother  not  to  be  so  foolishly 
moved  by  thoughts  of  fame  as  to  neglect  the  substantial 
advantages  which  office  might  ensure  to  him.  But  it 
was  Eichard  who  attended  upon  the  old  man's  deathbed, 
moved  with  an  almost  excessive  filial  devotion  and  regret, 
and  buried  him,  and  intended  to  place  a  fine  inscription 
over  him,  written  by  no  hand  but  that  of  Dr.  Parr, 
the  best  of  scholars.  It  was  never  done :  but  Charles 
Sheridan  (who  was  present,  however,  neither  at  the  sick- 
bed nor  the  grave)  had  already  intimated  the  conviction 
of  the  family  that  in  Dick's  case  the  will  had  to  be  taken 
for  the  deed.  This  loss,  however,  was  little  to  the 
greater  blow  Avhich  he  suffered  a  few  years  later.  Mrs. 
Sheridan  is  one  of  those  characters  who,  without  doing 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  166 

anything  to  make  themselves  remarkable,  yet  leave  a  cer- 
tain fragrance  behind  them  as  of  something  fine,  and 
tender,  and  delicate.  The  reader  will  remember  the 
letter  referred  to  in  the  first  chapter,  in  which  she  re- 
counts her  early  troubles  to  her  sympathising  friend,  a 
pretty  and  sentimental  composition,  with  a  touch  of 
Evelina  (who  was  the  young  lady's  contemporary)  in  its 
confidences,  and  still  more  of  Lydia  Languish,  whose  pro- 
totype she  might  well  have  been.  And  there  is  a  certain 
reflection  of  Lydia  Languish  throughout  her  life,  softened 
by  the  cessation  of  sentimental  dilemmas,  but  never  with- 
out a  turn  for  the  romantic.  That  she  was  a  good  wife 
to  Sheridan  there  seems  little  doubt :  the  accounts  of  the 
theatre  kept  in  her  handwriting,  the  long  and  careful 
extracts  made  and  information  prepared  by  her  to  help 
him — even  the  appeals  to  her  on  every  side,  from  her 
father,  anxious  about  the  theatre  and  its  business,  up  to 
Mr.  Burke  in  the  larger  political  sphere,  all  confident 
that  she  would  be  able  to  do  what  nobody  else  could  do, 
keep  Sheridan  to  an  appointment — show  what  her  ofl&ce 
was  between  him  and  the  world.  Within  doors,  of  all 
characters  for  the  reckless  mt  to  enact,  he  was  the 
Falkland  of  his  own  drama,  maddening  a  more  hapless 
Juha,  driving  her  a  hundred  times  out  of  patience  and 
out  of  heart  with  innumerable  suspicions,  jealousies, 
harassments  of  every  kind.  And  no  man  who  lived 
the  life  he  was  living,  with  the  most  riotous  company 
of  the  time,  could  be  a  very  good  husband.  He  left 
her  to  go  into  society  alone,  in  all  her  beauty  and 
charm, — the  St.  Cecilia  of  many  worshippers, — still  ele- 
gant, lovely,  and  sentimental,  an  involuntary  siren, 
accustomed  to  homage,  and  perhaps  liking  it  a  little,  as 


156  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

most  people,  even  the  wisest,  do.  There  could  be  no 
want  of  tenderness  to  her  husband  in  the  woman  who 
wrote  the  letter  of  happy  pride  and  adoration  quoted  in 
the  last  chapter ;  and  yet  she  was  not  herself  untouched 
by  scandal,  and  it  was  whispered  that  a  young,  hand- 
some, romantic  Irishman,  in  all  the  glory  of  national 
enthusiasm  and  with  the  shadow  of  tragedy  already 
upon  him,  had  moved  her  heart.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
enter  into  any  such  vague  and  shadowy  tale.  No  per- 
manent alienation  appears  to  have  ever  arisen  between 
her  and  her  husband,  though  there  were  many  painful 
scenes,  consequent  upon  the  too  finely -strung  nerves, 
which  is  often  another  name  for  irritability  and  impati- 
ence, of  both.  Sheridan's  sister,  who  lived  in  his  house 
for  a  short  time  after  her  father's  death,  gives  us  a  most 
charming  picture  of  this  sweet  and  attractive  woman. 

"  I  have  been  here  almost  a  week  in  perfect  quiet.  While 
there  was  company  in  the  house  I  stayed  in  my  room,  and 
since  my  brother's  leaving  us  for  Margate  I  have  sate  at 
times  with  Mrs.  Sheridan,  who  is  kind  and  considerate,  so 
that  I  have  entire  liberty.  Her  poor  sister's  children  are  all 
with  her.  The  girl  gives  her  constant  employment,  and 
seems  to  profit  by  being  under  so  good  an  instructor.  Their 
father  was  here  for  some  days,  but  I  did  not  see  him.  Last 
night  Mrs.  S.  showed  me  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Tickell,  which  she 
wears  round  her  neck.  .  .  .  Dick  is  still  in  town,  and  we  do 
not  expect  him  for  some  time.  Mrs.  Sheridan  seems  now 
quite  reconciled  to  those  little  absences  which  she  knows  are 
unavoidable.  I  never  saw  any  one  so  constant  in  employing 
every  moment  of  her  time,  and  to  that  I  attribute,  in  a  great 
measure,  the  recovery  of  her  health  and  spirits.  The  educa- 
tion of  her  niece,  her  music,  books,  and  w^ork,  occupy  every 
moment  of  the  day.  After  dinner  the  children,  -who  call  her 
mamma-aunt,  si)end  some  time  with  us,  and  her  manner  to 
them  is  truly  delightful." 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  157 

Mrs.  Tickell  was  Mrs.  Sheridan's  younger  sister,  and 
died  just  a  year  before  her.  In  the  meantime  she  had 
taken  immediate  charge  of  Tickell's  motherless  children, 
and  the  pretty  "copy  of  verses"  which  she  dedicated  to 
her  sister's  memory  embellishes  and  throws  light  upon 
her  own. 

*'  The  hours,  the  days  pass  on  ;  sweet  spring  returns, 
And  whispers  comfort  to  the  heart  that  mourns 
But  not  to  mine,  whose  dear  and  cherished  grief 
Asks  for  indulgence,  but  ne'er  hopes  relief. 
For  oh,  can  changing  seasons  e'er  restore 
The  lov'd  companion  I  must  still  deplore  ; 
Shall  all  the  wisdom  of  the  world  combined 
Erase  thy  image,  Mary,  from  my  mind, 
Or  bid  me  hope  from  others  to  receive 
The  fond  affection  thou  alone  could'st  give. 
Ah  no,  my  best  belov'd,  thou  still  shalt  be 
My  friend,  my  sister,  all  the  world  to  me. 


"  Oh,  if  the  soul  released  from  mortal  cares 
Views  the  sad  scene,  the  voice  of  mourning  hears, 
Then,  dearest  saint,  did'st  thou  thy  heaven  forego, 
Lingering  on  earth,  in  pity  to  our  woe, 
'Twas  thy  kind  influence  soothed  our  minds  to  peace, 
And  bade  our  vain  and  selfish  murmurs  cease. 
'Twas  thy  soft  smile  that  gave  the  worshipped  clay 
Of  thy  bright  essence  one  celestial  ray. 
Making  e'en  death  so  beautiful,  that  we 
Gazing  on  it,  forgot  our  misery. 
Then — pleasing  thought  !  ere  to  the  realms  of  light 
Thy  franchised  spirit  took  its  hapj)y  flight, 
With  fond  regard  perhaps  thou  saw'st  me  bend 
O'er  the  cold  relics  of  my  heart's  best  friend  ; 
And  heard'st  me  swear  while  her  dear  hand  I  prest, 
And  tears  of  agony  bedew'd  my  breast. 
For  her  lov'd  sake  to  act  the  mother's  part, 


158  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap 

And  take  her  darling  infants  to  my  heart, 

With  tenderest  care  their  youthful  minds  improve, 

And  guard  her  treasure  with  protecting  love  ; 

Once  more  look  down,  blest  creature,  and  behold 

These  arms  the  precious  innocents  enfold. 

Assist  my  erring  nature  to  fulfil 

The  sacred  trust  and  ward  off  every  ill  ; 

And  oh  !  let  her  who  is  my  dearest  care. 

Thy  blest  regard  and  heavenly  influence  share. 

Teach  me  to  form  her  pure  and  artless  mind. 

Like  thine,  as  true,  as  innocent,  as  kind, 

That  when  some  future  day  my  hopes  shall  bless, 

And  every  voice  her  virtue  shall  express. 

When  my  fond  heart  delighted  hears  her  praise. 

As  with  unconscious  loveliness  she  strays. 

Such,  let  me  say  with  tears  of  joy  the  while, 

Such  was  the  softness  of  my  Mary's  smile. 

Such  was  her  youth,  so  blithe,  so  rosy-sweet, 

And  such  her  mind  unpractised  in  deceit. 

With  artless  eloquence,  unstudied  grace. 

Thus  did  she  gain  in  every  heart  a  place. 

Tlien  while  the  dear  remembrance  I  behold, 

Time  shall  steal  on,  nor  tell  me  I  am  old, 

Till  nature  wearied,  each  fond  duty  o'er, 

I  join  my  angel  friend  to  part  no  more  !" 

There  is  something  extremely  sweet  and  touching  in 
these  lines,  with  their  faded  elegance,  their  pretty  senti- 
ment, the  touch  of  the  rococo  in  them  which  has  now 
recovered  popular  favour,  something  between  poetry  and 
embroidery,  and  the  most  tender  feminine  feeling.  All 
sorts  of  pretty  things  were  said  of  this  gentle  woman  in 
her  day.  Jackson  of  Exeter,  the  musician,  who  had  some 
professional  engagements  with  her  father,  and  accompanied 
her  often  in  her  songs,  said  that  "  to  see  her  as  she  stood 
singing  beside  him  at  the  pianoforte,  was  like  looking 
into  the  face  of  an  angel."    Another  still  higher  authority, 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  159 

the  Bishop  of  Nor^vich,  described  her  as  "  the  connecting 
link  between  woman  and  angel."  To  Wilkes,  the  coarse 
and  wild  yet  woman -loving  demagogue,  she  was  "the 
most  modest  flower  he  had  ever  seen."  Sir  eToshua 
painted  her  as  St.  Cecilia,  and  this  was  the  flattering 
name  by  which  she  was  known.  Her  letters,  with  a 
good  deal  of  haste,  and  the  faintest  note  of  flippancy  in 
them,  are  pretty  too,  full  of  news  and  society,  and  the 
card-tables  at  which  she  lost  her  money,  and  the  children 
in  whom  her  real  heart  was  centred.  The  romantic  girl 
had  grown  into  a  woman,  not  lofty  or  great,  but  sweet 
and  clever,  and  silly  and  generous,  a  fascinating  creature. 
Moore  describes  with  a  comical  high-flown  incongruity 
which  reminds  us  of  Mr.  Micawber,  her  various  qualities, 
the  intellect  which  could  appreciate  the  talents  of  her 
husband,  the  feminine  sensibility  that  could  passion- 
ately feel  his  success.  "  Mrs.  Sheridan  may  well  take 
her  place  beside  these  Roman  wives,"  he  says;  "not 
only  did  Calpurnia  sympathise  with  the  glory  of  her 
husband  abroad,  but  she  could  also,  like  Mrs.  Sheridan, 
add  a  charm  to  his  talents  at  home  by  setting  his  verses  to 
music  and  singing  them  to  her  harp."  Poor  Siren,  she 
had  her  triumphs,  but  she  had  her  troubles  also,  many 
and  sore.  In  Professor  Smyth's  little  book  there  is  an 
account  of  a  scene  which,  though  it  happened  after  her 
death,  throws  some  light  upon  one  side  of  her  troubled 
existence.  Smyth  had  been  engaged  as  tutor  to  Tom 
after  his  mother's  death,  and  this  was  one  of  the  inter- 
ferences which  he  had  to  submit  to.  Sheridan  had  been 
paying  a  hurried  visit  to  the  house  at  Wanstead  in  which 
Tom  and  his  tutor  lived  : 


160  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

"It  was  a  severe  frost,  and  had  been  long,  when  he  came 
one  evening  to  dine,  after  his  usual  manner,  on  a  boiled 
chicken,  at  7,  8,  or  9  o'clock,  just  as  it  happened,  and  had 
hardly  drunk  his  claret,  and  got  the  room  filled  with  wax  lights, 
without  which  he  could  not  exist,  when  he  sent  for  me  ;  and, 
lo  and  behold,  the  business  was  that  he  was  miserable  on 
account  of  Tom's  being  on  the  ice,  that  he  would  certainly  be 
drowned,  etc.,  and  that  he  begged  it  of  me  as  the  greatest 
favour  I  could  do  him  in  some  way  or  other  to  prevent  it. 
I  expostulated  with  him — that  I  skated  myself — that  I  had 
a  servant  with  a  rope  and  ladder  at  the  bank — that  the  ice 
would  now  bear  a  waggon,  etc.  etc. ;  and  at  last,  seeing  me 
grow  half  angry  at  his  unreasonableness,  he  acquiesced  in 
what  I  said,  and  calling  his  carriage,  as  he  must  be  at  Drury 
Lane  that  night  he  said,  (it  was  then  eleven  and  he  was  nine 
miles  off),  he  withdrew.  In  about  half  an  hour  afterwards, 
as  I  was  going  to  bed,  I  heard  a  violent  ringing  at  the  gate  ; 
I  was  wanted  ;  and  sure  enough  what  should  I  see,  glaring 
through  the  bars,  and  outshining  the  lamps  of  the  carriage, 
but  the  fine  eyes  of  Sheridan.  '  Now  do  not  laugh  at  me, 
Smyth,'  he  said,  '  but  I  cannot  rest  or  think  of  anything  but 
this  d — d  ice  and  this  skating,  and  you  must  promise  me 
there  shall  be  no  more  of  it.'  I  said  what  may  be  supposed  ; 
and  in  short  was  at  last  obliged  to  thrust  my  hand  through 
the  bars,  which  he  shook  violently,  in  token  that  his  wishes 
should  be  obeyed.  '  Never  was  such  a  nonsensical  person  as 
this  father  of  yours,'  said  I  to  Tom.  There  was  no  difficulty 
in  coming  to  a  common  vote  on  that  point ;  and  so,  after 
spending  nearly  an  hour  abusing  him,  half  laughing  and 
half  crying,  for  I  was  as  fond  of  skating  as  my  pupil  could 
be,  lamenting  our  unhappy  fate,  we  went  to  bed.  We  sent 
up  various  petitions  and  remonstrances  while  the  frost  lasted, 
but  all  in  vain.  '  Have  a  glass  case  constructed  for  your  son 
at  once,'  said  Mr.  Grey  to  him — an  observation  which  Tom 
used  to  quote  to  me  with  particular  approbation  and  delight. 
I  talked  over  the  subject  of  Mr.  Sheridan  and  his  idle  ner- 
vousness with  Mrs.  Canning,  who  lived  at  the  end  of  the 
village.  She  told  me  that  nothing  could  be  done — that  he 
would  tease  and  irritate  Mrs.  Sheridan  in  this  manner  till  she 
was  ready  to  dash  her  head  against  the  wall,  being  of  the 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  161 

same  temperament  of  genius  as  her  husband  :  that  she  had 
seen  her  burst  into  tears  and  leave  the  room  ;  then  the  scene 
changed,  and  the  wall  seemed  full  as  likely  to  receive  his 
head  in  turn.  The  folly,  however,  Mrs.  Canning  said,  was 
not  merely  once  and  away,  but  was  too  often  repeated  ;  and 
Mrs.  Canning  used  sometimes,  as  she  told  me,  to  be  not  a 
little  thankful  that  she  was  herself  of  a  more  ordinary  clay, 
and  that  the  gods,  as  in  the  case  of  Audrey,  had  not  made 
her  poetical." 

This  perhaps  is  the  least  comprehensible  part  of  Sheri- 
dan's character.  The  combination  of  this  self -tormentor, 
endowed  with  a  faculty  for  extracting  annoyance  and 
trouble  out  of  every  new  turn  in  his  circumstances, 
and  persecuting  those  who  were  dearest  to  him  by  his 
caprices,  with  the  reckless  and  careless  man  of  pleasure, 
is  curious,  and  difficult  to  realise. 

Mrs.  Sheridan  died  in  1792.  She  had  been  taken  to 
Bristol,  in  hopes  that  the  change  of  air  would  do  her 
good.  But  her  time  had  come,  and  there  was  no  hope 
for  her.  Her  husband  attended  her  with  all  the  tender- 
ness and  anxiety  which  a  man,  no  doubt  remorseful, 
always  impressionable,  and  ready  to  be  moved  by  the 
sight,  which  was  intolerable  to  him,  of  suflPering — might 
be  supposed  to  feel,  watching  over  her  with  the  pro- 
foundest  devotion.  "He  cannot  bear  to  think  her  in 
danger,"  writes  a  sympathetic  friend,  "  or  that  any  one 
else  should  ;  though  he  is  as  attentive  and  watchful  as  if 
he  expected  every  moment  to  be  her  last.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  any  man  to  behave  with  greater  tenderness  or 
to  feel  more  on  such  an  occasion."  He  was  at  her  bed- 
side night  and  day,  "and  never  left  her  one  moment  that 
could  be  avoided."  The  crisis  was  one  in  which  with 
his  readiness  of  emotion,  and  quick  and  sure  response  to 

M 


162  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

all  that  touched  him,  he  was  sure  to  appear  well.  Moore 
found,  among  the  mass  of  documents  through  which  he 
had  to  pick  his  way,  a  scrap  of  paper  evidently  belong- 
ing to  this  period,  which  gives  strange  expression  to  that 
realistic  and  materialistic  horror  of  death  as  death,  which 
was  one  of  the  features  of  the  time.  "  The  loss  of  the 
breath  from  a  beloved  object  long  suifering  in  pain  and 
certainty  to  die,  is  not  so  great  a  privation  as  the  last 
loss  of  her  beautiful  remains  if  they  remain  so.  The 
victory  of  the  grave  is  sharper  than  the  sting  of  death." 
There  is  something  in  this  sentiment  which  makes  us 
shudder.     That  crowning  pang  of  separation, — 

*'  Our  lives  have  fallen  so  far  apart 
We  cannot  hear  each  other  speak,"  — 

does  not  strike  this  mourner.  The  contact  of  the 
body  and  decay,  the  loss  of  "  the  beautiful  remains,"  is 
what  moves  him.  It  is  like  a  child's  primitive  horror 
of  the  black  box  and  the  deep  hole.  In  his  own  dying 
hour  an  awe  unspeakable  stole  over  his  face  when  he  was 
informed  that  a  clergyman  had  been  sent  for.  These 
were  things  to  be  held  at  arm's  length ;  when  he  was 
compulsorily  brought  in  contact  with  them,  the  terror 
was  almost  greater  than  the  anguish. 

The  Linley  family  had  suffered  terribly  in  these 
years,  one  following  another  to  the  grave.  There  is  a 
most  touching  description  of  the  father  given  by  the 
actress  Mrs.  Crouch,  which  goes  direct  to  the  heart — 

"  After  Miss  Marion  Linley  died,  it  was  melancholy  for 
her  to  sing  to  Mr.  Linley,  whose  tears  continually  fell  on  the 
keys  as  he  accompanied  her  ;  and  if  in  the  course  of  her  pro- 
fession she  was  obliged  to  practise  a  song  which  he  had  been 
accustouied  to  hear  his  lost  daughter  sing,  the  similarity  of 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  163 

their  manner  and  voices,  mIucIi  he  had  once  remarked  with 
pleasure,  then  affected  him  to  such  a  degree  that  he  was  fre- 
quently forced  to  quit  his  instrument  and  walk  about  the  room 
to  recover  his  composure." 

After  his  wife's  death,  Sheridan's  life  assumed  another 
phase.  He  had  no  longer  the  anchor,  such  as  it  was, 
which  steadied  him — not  even  the  tug  of  remorse  to 
bring  him  home  to  a  house  where  there  was  now  no 
one  waiting  for  him.  We  are  indebted  to  Professor 
Smyth's  narrative  for  a  very  graphic  description  of  this 
portion  of  Sheridan's  life.  In  the  very  formation  of 
their  connection,  the  peculiarities  of  his  future  employer 
were  at  once  made  knowTi  to  him.  It  was  appointed 
that  he  should  meet  Sheridan  at  dinner  in  town  to 
conclude  the  arrangement  about  the  tutorship,  and  to 
keep  this  appointment  he  came  up  specially  from  the 
country.  The  dinner  hour  was  seven,  but  at  nine  Smyth 
and  the  friend  who  was  to  introduce  him  ate  their  cold 
meal  without  Sheridan,  who  then  sent  to  say  that  he 
had  been  detained  at  the  House,  but  would  sup  with 
them  at  midnight  at  the  St.  Alban's  Tavern,  whither 
they  resorted  with  precisely  the  same  result.  Next  day, 
however,  the  meeting  did  take  place,  and  the  ruffled  soul 
of  the  young  scholar,  who  had  been  extremely  indignant 
to  find  himself  thus  treated,  was  soothed  in  a  few  minutes 
by  the  engaging  manner  and  delightful  speech  of  his  patron. 
It  was  at  Isleworth,  Sheridan's  country  house,  that  they 
met,  where  very  lately  Madame  de  Genlis,  that  inte- 
resting and  sentimental  refugee,  with  her  lovely  daughter 
Pamela,  the  beautiful  young  creature  whom  Mrs.  Sheridan 
had  bidden  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  to  marry  when  she 
(lied,  had  paid  him  a  visit.     The  house  was  dirty  and 


164  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

desolate,  the  young  observer  thought,  but  the  master  of 
it  the  most  captivating  of  men.  His  brilHant  and  ex- 
pressive eyes,  a  certain  modesty  in  his  manner,  for  which 
the  young  Don  was  not  prepared,  struck  Smyth  above  all : 
and  he  in  his  turn  pleased  the  nervous  and  troubled 
father,  who  would  have  kept  young  Tom  in  a  glass  case 
liad  he  dared.  Afterwards  another  house  was  taken  in 
Wanstead,  in  order  that  Sheridan's  baby  daughter  might 
be  placed  under  the  charge  of  Mrs.  Canning,  the  lady 
who  had  nursed  Mrs.  Sheridan  and  loved  her,  and  who 
lived  in  this  village  ;  and  here  the  boy  and  his  tutor  were 
sent.  But  a  very  short  time  after  another  blow  fell  upon 
Sheridan  in  the  person  of  this  child,  whom  Professor 
Smyth  describes  as  the  loveliest  child  he  ever  saw — an 
exceptional  creature,  whom  Sheridan  made  a  little  goddess 
of,  worshipping  her  with  every  baby  rite  that  could  be 
thought  of.  One  night  the  house  had  awoke  to  unwonted 
merriment ;  a  large  childish  party  filled  the  rooms,  and 
dancing  was  going  on  merrily,  when  Mrs.  Canning  sud- 
denly flung  open  the  door,  crying  out,  "  The  child,  the 
child  is  dying  !  "  Sheridan's  grief  was  intense  and  over- 
whelming :  it  was  piteous  to  hear  his  moans  during  the 
terrible  night  that  followed.  His  warm-hearted  emotional 
being,  horrified  and  panic-stricken  by  the  approach  of 
death,  was  once  more  altogether  overwhelmed.  The 
cruel  climax  of  blow  after  blow  crushed  him  to  the  earth. 
During  this  time  his  parliamentary  life  was  going  on 
with  interruptions,  sometimes  brightening  into  flashes  of 
his  pristine  brilliancy.  But  at  this  moment  there  were 
other  troubles  besides  those  of  his  home  and  heart,  to 
make  his  attendance  irregular  and  withdraw  his  thoughts 
from  public  affairs.     How  the  theatre  had  been  going  on 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  165 

all  this  time  it  is  difficult  to  make  out.  We  are  told  of 
endless  embarrassments,  difficulties,  and  trouble,  of  a 
treasury  emptied  wantonly,  and  actors  left  without  their 
pay, — of  pieces  which  failed  and  audiences  which  dimin- 
ished. But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  are  informed  that  the 
prosj^erity  of  Drury  Lane  never  was  greater  than  during 
this  period,  while  the  old  theatre  lasted ;  and,  as  it  was 
the  only  source  from  which  Sheridan  drew  his  income,  it 
is  very  evident  that,  notwithstanding  all  irregularities, 
broken  promises,  crowds  of  duns,  and  general  mismanage- 
ment, there  was  an  unfailing  fountain  of  money  to  be 
drawn  upon.  The  whole  story  is  confused.  We  are 
sometimes  told  that  he  was  himself  the  manager,  and  it 
is  certain  that  now  and  then  he  stooped  even  so  far  as 
to  arrange  a  pantomime  ;  Avhile  at  the  same  time  we 
find  the  theatre  under  the  management  of  King  at  one 
time,  of  Kemble  at  another,  men  much  better  qualified 
than  Sheridan.  The  mere  fact  indeed  that  the  Kemble 
family  was  at  that  time  on  the  boards  of  Drury  Lane 
would  seem  a  sufficient  proof  of  the  success  of  the  theatre ; 
but  the  continually  recurring  discovery  that  the  pro- 
prietor's pressing  necessities  had  cleared  the  treasury 
altogether  was  little  likely  to  keep  the  troupe  together 
or  inspire  its  efforts.  When  any  influential  member  of  the 
company  became  unmanageable  on  this  score,  Sheridan's 
persuasive  talent  was  called  in  to  make  all  right.  Once, 
we  are  told,  Mrs.  Siddons,  who  had  declared  that  she 
would  not  act  until  her  salary  was  paid,  who  had  resisted 
successively  the  eloquent  appeals  of  her  colleagues  and 
the  despair  of  the  manager,  and  was  calmly  sewing 
at  home  after  the  curtain  had  risen  for  the  piece  in 
which    she    was    expected    to    perform,    yielded   help- 


166  RICHAKD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

lessly  when  Sheridan  himself,  all  suave  and  irresistible, 
came  on  the  scene,  and  suffered  herself  to  be  driven 
to  the  theatre  like  a  lamb.  On  another  occasion  it 
was  Kemble  that  rebelled.  We  are  tempted  to  quote, 
for  its  extremely  ludicrous  character,  this  droll  little 
scene.  Sheridan  had  come  in  accidentally  to  join  the 
party  in  the  green  room  after  the  performance,  and, 
taking  his  seat  at  the  table,  made  as  usual  a  cheerful 
beginning  of  conversation.  Kemble,  however,  would 
make  no  reply. 

"  The  great  actor  now  looked  nnutteral)le  things,  and 
occasionally  emitted  a  humming  sound  like  that  of  a  bee,  and 
groaned  in  spirit  inwardly.  A  considerable  time  elapsed,  and 
frequent  repetitions  of  the  sound,  when  at  length,  like  a  pillar 
of  state,  up  rose  Kemble,  and  in  these  words  addressed  the 
astonished  proprietor  :  '  I  am  an  Eagle,  whose  wings  have 
been  bound  down  by  frosts  and  snows,  but  now  I  shake  my 
pinions  and  cleave  into  the  genial  air  into  which  I  was 
born  ! '  He  then  deliberately  resumed  his  seat,  as  if  he  had 
relieved  himself  from  unsupportable  thraldom." 

Undaunted  by  this  solemn  address,  Sheridan  drew 
his  chair  closer,  and  at  the  end  of  the  prolonged  sitting 
left  the  place,  not  too  steadily  it  is  to  be  feared,  arm 
in  arm  with  the  exasperated  eagle,  whom  he  had 
made  as  mild  as  any  mouse.  He  did  many  feats  of  the 
same  kind.  Once,  the  bankers  having  sternly  resisted 
all  blandishments  of  manager,  treasurer,  all  the  staff  of 
the  theatre,  Sheridan  went  in  gaily  to  the  charge,  and 
returned  in  a  few  minutes  beaming  and  successful,  with 
the  money  they  wanted.  When  he  chose,  nobody  could 
stand  against  him. 

Poor  Mr.  Smyth  had  a  terrible  life  of  it  with  this 
disorderly  patron.     His  letters  were  neglected,  his  ap- 


V.J  MIDDLE  AGE.  167 

pointments  broken,  his  salary  left  unpaid.  Once  his 
pupil  Tom  was  sent  for  in  hot  haste  to  meet  his  father 
at  a  certain  roadside  inn,  and  there  waited  for  days  if  not 
weeks  in  vain  expectation  of  his  errant  parent,  leaving  the 
unfortunate  preceptor  a  prey  to  all  kinds  of  anxiety. 
Another  time  the  long-suffering  Smyth  was  left  at  Bognor 
with  an  old  servant,  Martha,  without  money,  or  occupa- 
tion, waiting  for  a  summons  to  London  which  never 
came ;  and,  unable  at  last  to  live  any  longer  on  credit, 
after  letters  innumerable  of  entreaty,  protestation,  and 
wrath,  went  up  to  London  full  of  fury,  determined  to 
endure  no  more ;  but  was  met  by  Sheridan  with  such 
cordial  pleasure,  surprise  that  he  had  not  come  sooner, 
and  satisfaction  with  his  appearance  now,  since  Tom  was 
getting  into  all  sorts  of  mischief — that  the  angry  tutor 
was  entirely  vanquished,  and  remorseful  when  he  thought 
of  the  furious  letter  he  had  sent  to  this  kind  friend. 
What  followed  is  worth  quoting. 

" '  I  wrote  you  a  letter  lately,'  I  said  ;  '  it  was  an  angry 
one.  You  will  be  so  good  as  to  think  no  more  of  it.'  '  Oh, 
certainly  not,  my  dear  Smyth,'  he  said,  '  I  shall  never  think 
of  what  yoii  have  said  in  it,  be  assured  ; '  and,  putting  his 
hand  in  his  pocket,  '  here  it  is,'  he  said,  offering  it  to  me.  I 
was  glad  enough  to  get  hold  of  it,  but  looking  at  it  as  I  was 
about  to  throw  it  into  the  fire,  lo,  and  behold,  I  saw  that  it 
had  never  been  opened  ! " 

Such  exasperating  yet  ludicrous  incidents  were  now 
commonplaces  of  Sheridan's  life.  "Intercourse  with 
him,"  says  Professor  Smyth  in  a  harsher  mood,  moved 
by  some  sting  of  bitter  recollection,  "was  one  eternal 
insult,  mortification,  and  disappointment."  There  was  a 
bag  on  his  table  into  which  all  letters  were  stuffed  indis- 


168  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

criminately,  and  in  which,  when  it  was  turned  out,  an 
astonished  applicant  for  debt  or  favour  might  see  a 
succession  of  his  own  letters  as  he  sent  them,  wath  not 
one  seal  broken ;  but  to  lessen  the  mortification  would 
find  also  letters  enclosing  money  sent  in  answer  to  Sheri- 
dan's own  urgent  applications,  turned  out  in  the  same 
condition,  having  been  stuflfed  with  the  rest  into  that 
hopeless  waste  heap.  When  Professor  Smyth  appealed 
to  Sheridan's  old  servant  to  know  if  nothing  could  be 
done  to  remedy  this,  Edwards  told  him  a  piteous  story 
of  how  he  had  found  Mr.  Sheridan's  window,  which 
rattled,  wedged  up  with  bank-notes,  which  the  muddled 
reveller,  returning  late  at  night,  had  stuffed  into  the 
gaping  sash,  out  of  his  pocket.  The  story  altogether 
is  laughable  and  pitiful,  a  tragic  comedy  of  the  most 
woeful  fooling.  He  had  no  longer  youth  enough  to 
warrant  an  easy  laugh,  his  reputation  was  going  from 
him.  He  was  harassed  by  endless  creditors  and  duns, 
not  able  to  stir  out  of  his  house  without  encounter- 
ing two  or  three  waiting  to  waylay  him.  The  first 
of  these,  if  he  caught  Sheridan  at  a  moment  when 
his  pocket  had  just  been  replenished,  would  get  the 
amount  of  his  bill  in  full,  whatever  the  others  might 
have  to  say.  The  stories  are  endless  which  deal  with 
these  embarrassments,  and  the  shifts  and  devices  of 
the  struggling  man  were  endless  also.  They  are  very 
ridiculous  to  hear  of,  but  how  humiliating,  miserable, 
and  sickening  to  the  heart  and  mind  all  these  repetitions 
must  have  been  !  And  then  to  make  everything  worse 
the  poor  old  theatre  fell  to  pieces,  and  the  taste  of 
the  day  demanded  a  costly  and  luxurious  new  building, 
according  to  improved  fashions.     The  money  to  do  this 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  169 

was  raised  by  the  manufacture  of  new  shares,  in  which 
there  was  no  difficulty — but  which  naturally  restricted 
the  after  profits  of  the  original  proprietors.  And  what 
was  still  more  serious,  the  interval  occupied  in  the 
rebuilding — during  which  time  their  profits  may  be  said 
to  have  ceased  altogether — and  the  excess  of  the  cost 
over  the  estimate,  made  an  enormous  difi'erence  to  men 
who  had  no  reserve  to  fall  back  upon.  The  company 
in  the  meantime  played  in  a  small  theatre  at  a  great 
expense,  and  Sheridan,  profuse  and  lavish,  unable  to 
retrench,  not  wise  enough  even  to  attempt  retrenchment, 
got  deeper  and  deeper  into  debt  and  embarrassment. 

Besides  all  these  misadventures  a  new  and  malign 
influence  now  got  possession  of  him.  He  had  been  pre- 
sented to  the  young  Prince  of  Wales,  at  a  time  when  that 
illustrious  personage  was  still  little  more  than  a  boy,  and 
full,  it  was  believed,  of  promise  and  hopefulness :  and  had 
gradually  grown  to  be  one  of  the  most  intimate  habitues 
of  his  society,  a  devoted  retainer,  adviser,  and  defender, 
holding  by  him  in  all  circumstances,  and  sharing  the 
irregularities  of  his  life,  and  the  horseplay  of  his  amuse- 
ments. The  Octogenarian^  from  whose  rather  foolish 
book  we  have  occasionally  quoted,  gives  a  tissue  of 
absurd  stories,  professedly  heard  from  Sheridan's  own 
lips,  in  which  the  adventures  of  a  night  are  recorded, 
and  the  heir-apparent  is  represented  to  us  in  company 
with  two  statesmen,  as  all  but  locked  up  for  the  night  at 
a  police  station.  Whether  this  was  true  or  not,  it  is 
certain  that  the  glamour  which  there  is  in  the  rank  of  a 
royal  personage,  that  dazzlement  which  so  few  can  resist, 
fell  upon  Sheridan.  His  action  as  the  adviser  and  repre- 
sentative in  Parliament  of  this  unillustrious  Prince  was 


170  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

dignified  and  sensible,  but  the  orgies  of  Carlton  House 
were  unfortunately  too  much  in  Sheridan's  way  to  be 
restrained  or  discountenanced  by  him,  and  so  much  hope 
and  possibility  as  remained  in  his  life  was  lost  in  the 
vulgar  dissipations  of  this  depraved  secondary  court,  and 
in  the  poor  vanity  of  becoming  boon  companion  and 
buffoon  to  that  first  gentleman  in  Europe,  whose  florid 
and  padded  comeliness  was  the  admiration  of  his  day. 
It  was  a  poor  end  for  the  great  dramatist,  who  has  kept 
thousands  of  his  countryfolk  in  genial,  not  uninnocent 
amusement  for  the  last  century,  and  for  the  great  orator 
whose  eloquence  had  disturbed  the  judgment  of  the 
most  august  of  legislative  assemblies,  and  shaken  even 
the  convictions  of  the  hottest  partisans ;  but  it  was  an 
end  to  which  he  had  been  for  some  time  tending,  and 
which  perhaps  the  loss  of  his  wife  had  made  one  way  or 
other  inevitable. 

In  the  meantime  several  events  occurred  which  may 
fill  up  this  division  of  the  life  of  the  man  as  apart  from 
that  of  the  politician  and  orator.  In  1794  the  new 
theatre  was  finished,  and  Sheridan  sketched  out  for  the 
opening  a  sort  of  extravaganza  called  The  Glorious  First 
of  June,  which  was  apparently  in  celebration  of  the 
naval  victory  of  Lord  Howe.  The  dialogue  was  not  his, 
but  merely  the  construction  and  arrangement,  and  in 
emulation  of  Tilbury  and  the  feats  of  J\Ir.  Puff,  a  grand 
sea-fight,  with  finale  of  a  lovers'  meeting  to  the  triumphant 
sounds  of  "  Rule  Britannia,"  was  introduced.  The  two 
pasteboard  fleets  rehearsed  their  manoeuvres  under  the 
eye  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that 
the  spectacle  had  a  triumphant  success.  A  year  or  two 
later  a  less  agreeable  incident  occurred  in  the  history  of 


V.J  MIDDLE  AGE.  171 

Drury  Lane.  Either  deceived  by  the  many  who  were 
ready  to  stake  their  credit  upon  the  authenticity  of  the 
Ireland  forgeries — then  given  forth  as  a  discovery  of 
precious  relics  of  Shakespeare,  including  among  them  a 
completed  and  unpublished  play — or  deceived  in  his  own 
person  on  the  subject,  one  on  which  he  was  not  learned, 
Sheridan  accepted  for  the  theatre  this  play,  called  For- 
tigern,  and  produced  it  with  much  pomp  and  magnificence. 
The  audience  was  a  crowded  and  critical  one,  and  the 
public  mind  was  so  strongly  roused  by  the  question,  that 
no  doubt  there  was  some  factious  feeling  in  the  prompt  and 
unmistakable  rejection  of  the  false  Shakespeare,  to  whicli 
Kemble  by  his  careless  acting  is  said  to  have  contributed. 
He  had  never  believed  in  the  discovery,  and  might  be 
irritated  that  the  decision  had  been  made  without  con- 
sulting him.  Dr.  Parr,  however,  for  whom  Sheridan 
had  a  great  respect,  and  with  whom  he  kept  up  friendly 
relations  all  his  life,  was  one  of  those  who  had  headed 
the  blunder,  receiving  the  forgeries  reverentially  as  pure 
Shakespeare  ;  and  it  was  natural  enough  that  Sheridan's 
judgment  should  have  been  influenced  by  a  man  whom 
he  must  have  felt  a  much  better  authority  on  the  question 
than  himself.  For  he  was  no  student  of  Shakespeare,  and 
his  prevailing  recklessness  was  more  than  enough  to 
counterbalance  the  keen  critical  instinct  which  produced 
the  Critic.  In  all  likelihood  he  never  investigated  the 
question  at  all,  but  calculated  on  a  temporary  theatrical 
success,  without  other  results.  "Sheridan  was  never 
known  to  offer  his  opinion  on  the  matter  until  after  its 
representation  on  the  stage  :  he  left  the  public  to  decide 
on  its  merits,"  says  one  of  his  biographers  :  bat  the 
incident  is  not  an  agreeable  one. 


172  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

It  was  less  his  fault  than  that  of  his  public,  perhaps,  that 
the  stage,  shortly  after  recovering  from  the  salutary  influ- 
ence of  the  Critic,  dropped  again  into  bathos  and  the  false 
heroic.  "  Kotzebue  and  German  sausages  are  the  order  of 
the  day,"  Sheridan  himself  is  reported  to  have  said  when, 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  he  produced  the  Stranger, 
that  culmination  of  the  sentimental  commonplace.  Every- 
body will  remember  Thackeray's  delightful  banter  of  this 
wonderful  production,  which  has,  however,  situations  so 
skilfully  prepared  and  opportunities  so  great  for  a  clever 
actress,  that  it  has  continued  to  find  a  place  in  the  reper- 
tory of  most  theatres,  and  is  still  to  be  heard  of  as  the 
show-piece  of  a  wandering  company,  as  well  as  now  and 
then  on  the  most  ambitious  boards,  its  dubious  moral  and 
un-English  denouement  notwithstanding.  AVith  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons  as  Mrs.  Haller,  it  may  be  imagined  that  the  real 
pathos  involved  in  the  story  would  have  full  expression. 

The  success  of  the  Stranger  impelled  Sheridan  to 
another  adaptation  of  a  similar  kind,  in  the  tragedy  of 
Pizarro,  which  he  altered  and  decorated  so  much,  it  is 
said,  as  to  make  it  almost  his  own.  The  bombast  and 
claptrap  of  this  production  make  us  regret  to  associate  it 
with  his  name,  but  here  also  the  dramatic  construction 
was  good  enough  and  the  situations  so  striking  as  to  rivet 
the  attention  of  the  audience,  while  the  high-flo'wn  magni- 
ficence of  the  sentiments  was  such  as  always  delights  the 
multitude.  When  something  was  said  to  Pitt,  between 
whom  and  Sheridan  a  gradually  increasing  enmity  had 
grown,  about  the  new  drama,  the  minister  answered,  "If 
you  mean  what  Sheridan  wrote,  there  is  nothing  new  in 
it.  I  have  heard  it  all  long  ago  in  his  speeches  on 
Hastings'  trial."     It  is  undeniable  that  there  is  a  good 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  173 

deal  of  truth  in  this,  and  that  Rolla's  grand  patriotic 
tirade  which  used  to  be  in  all  school  reading-books,  as  a 
lesson  in  elocution,  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  many 
passages  in  Sheridan's  speeches.  All  this  helped  its 
popularity.  Grand  addresses  in  favour  of  patriotism  are 
always  delightful  to  the  galleries,  and  have  at  all  times 
a  charm  for  the  general  imagination  :  but  in  those  days 
when  there  was  actual  fighting  going  on,  and  France,  who 
had  constituted  herself  the  pedagogue  of  the  world,  to 
teach  the  nations  the  alphabet  of  freedom,  was  supposed 
to  threaten  and  endanger  England  with  her  fiery  teaching, 
it  may  be  supposed  to  what  a  height  of  enthusiasm  these 
exhortations  would  raise  the  audience.  "They  follow 
an  adventurer  whom  they  fear,  and  obey  a  power  which 
they  hate ;  we  revere  a  monarch  whom  we  love,  a  God 
whom  we  adore.  They  boast  they  come  but  to  improve 
our  State,  enlarge  our  thoughts,  and  free  us  from  the 
yoke  of  error  !  Yes  !  they  "VAall  give  enlightened  freedom 
to  our  minds,  who  are  themselves  the  slaves  of  passion, 
avarice,  and  pride !  "  Whether  it  were  under  Robespierre 
or  Bonaparte,  the  common  people  in  England  scorned 
and  feared  the  heated  neighbour-nation  which  thought 
itself  entitled  to  dictate  to  the  world ;  and  no  doubt  the 
popular  mind  made  a  rapid  adaptation  of  these  heroic 
phrases. 

It  had  been  hard  to  move  the  author  to  complete  the 
Critic :  and  the  reader  will  remember  the  trick  of  Linley 
and  his  coadjutors  in  those  early  days  when  the  delays 
and  evasions  of  the  gay  young  man  were  an  excellent 
jest,  and  their  certainty  of  being  able  to  put  all  right 
when  they  could  lock  him  in  with  his  work,  had  something 
triumphant  in  it.     But  all  that  was  over  now  ;  old  Linley 


174  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

was  dead,  and  a  new  generation  who  had  no  worship  for 
Sheridan,  and  a  very  clear  apprehension  of  the  everlasting 
confusion  produced  by  his  disorderly  ways,  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  light-hearted  actors  of  old.  But  notwith- 
standing the  awe-inspiring  presence  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  and 
the  importance  of  her  brother,  the  astounding  fact  that 
when  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  fourth  act  of  Fizarro,  these 
theatrical  potentates  had  not  yet  seen  their  parts  for  the 
fifth,  which  they  had  to  study  in  the  interval,  is  vouched 
for  by  various  witnesses.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  the  state 
of  the  actors'  minds,  the  terrible  anxiety  of  the  manager 
in  such  an  extraordinary  dilemma,  and  still  more  hard  to 
realise  the  hopeless  confusion  in  the  mind  of  the  man  who 
knew  all  that  was  being  risked  by  such  a  piece  of  folly, 
and  yet  could  not  nerve  himself  to  the  work  till  the  last 
moment.  He  was  drifting  on  the  rapids  by  this  time, 
and  going  headlong  to  ruin,  heedless  of  everything,  name 
and  fame,  credit  and  fortune,  the  good  opinion  of  his 
friends,  the  support  of  the  public,  all  except  the  indul- 
2:ence  of  the  whim  of  the  moment,  or  of  the  habit  which 
was  leading  him  to  destruction. 

He  took  another  step  about  the  same  time  which 
might  perhaps  have  redeemed  him  had  it  been  more 
wisely  set  about.  He  had  met  one  evening,  so  the 
story  goes,  among  other  more  important,  and  let  us 
hope  more  well-bred  people,  a  foolish,  pretty  girl,  who 
either  out  of  flippant  dislike  to  his  looks,  or  that  very 
transparent  cujacerie  by  which  foolish  men  are  some- 
times attracted  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life,  regarded  him 
with  exclamations  of  "fright !  horrid  creature  !"  and  the 
like,  something  in  the  style  not  pf  Evelina,  but  of  Miss 
Burney's  vulgar  personages.     He  was  by  this  time  forty- 


v.]  MIDDLE  AGE.  175 

four,  but  ready  enough  still  to  take  up  an}'-  such 
challenge,  and  either  he  was  piqued  into  making  so 
frank  a  critic  change  her  opinions,  or  the  prettiness  and 
foolishness  of  the  girl  amused  and  pleased  him.  He  set 
to  work  at  once  to  make  her  aware  that  a  man  of  middle- 
age  and  unhandsome  aspect  may  yet  outdo  the  youngest 
and  most  attractive,  and  no  very  great  time  elapsed 
before  he  was  completely  successful.  The  lady's  father 
was  little  pleased  with  the  match.  He  was  a  clergyman, 
the  Dean  of  Winchester,  and  might  well  have  been  indis- 
posed to  give  his  daughter  and  her  five  thousand  pounds 
to  a  man  with  such  a  reputation.  He  made  his  consent 
conditional  on  the  settling  of  fifteen  thousand  pounds,  in 
addition  to  her  own  little  fortune,  upon  her.  Sheridan 
had  always  been  great  in  financial  surprises,  and  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  dean,  the  fifteen  thousand  was  soon 
forthcoming.  He  got  it  this  time  by  new  shares  of  the 
theatre,  thus  diminishing  his  receipts  always  a  little 
and  a  little  more.  A  small  estate,  Polesden,  in  Surrey, 
was  bought  with  the  money,  and  for  a  time  all  was 
gaiety  and  pleasure.  It  was  in  order  to  tell  him  of 
this  marriage  that  Sheridan  sent  for  his  son,  from  his 
tutor  and  his  lessons,  on  the  occasion  already  referred  to, 
to  meet  him  at  Guildford  at  an  inn  of  which  he  had  for- 
gotten the  name.  Four  or  five  days  after,  the  anxious 
tutor  received  a  letter  from  Tom.  "  My  father  I  have 
never  seen,"  wrote  the  lad,  "  and  all  that  I  can  hear  of 
him  is  that  instead  of  dining  with  me  on  Wednesday 
last,  he  passed  through  Guildford  on  his  way  to  town 
with  four  horses  and  lamps,  about  twelve."  Like  father 
like  son,  the  youth  had  remained  there,  though  with 
only  a  few  shillings  in  his  pockets  :  but  at  the  end  was 


176  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.         [chap.  v. 

so  "  bored  and  wearied  out "  that  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  return  even  to  his  books.  Finally,  he  was  sent 
for  to  London  and  informed  of  the  mystery.  His  letter 
to  Smyth  disclosing  this  is  so  characteristic  that  it  is 
worth  quoting  : — 

"  It  is  not  I  that  am  to  be  married,  nor  you.  Set  your 
heart  at  rest :  it  is  my  father  himself ;  the  lady  a  Miss  Ogle, 
who  lives  at  Winchester  ;  and  that  is  the  history  of  the 
Guildford  business.  About  my  own  age — better  me  to  marry 
her,  you  will  say.  I  am  not  of  that  opinion.  My  father 
talked  to  me  two  hours  last  night,  and  made  out  to  me 
that  it  was  the  most  sensible  thing  he  could  do.  AVas  not 
this  very  clever  of  him  ?  Well,  my  dear  Mr.  S.,  you  should 
have  been  tutor  to  him,  you  see.  I  am  incomparably  the 
most  rational  of  the  two." 

Moore  describes  the  immediate  result  of  the  new  mar- 
riage as  a  renewal  of  Sheridan's  youth.  "It  is  said  by 
those  who  were  in  habits  of  intimacy  with  him  at  this 
period  that  they  had  seldom  seen  his  spirits  in  a  state  of 
more  buoyant  vivacity,"  and  there  was  perhaps  a  possi- 
bility that  the  new  event  might  have  proved  a  turning 
point.  It  is  unfair  to  blame  the  foolish  girl,  who  had  no 
idea  what  the  dangers  were  which  she  had  so  rashly 
undertaken  to  deal  with,  that  she  did  not  reclaim  or 
deliver  Sheridan.  To  do  this  was  beyond  her  power  as 
it  was  beyond  his  own. 


CHAPTER   VL 


DECADENCE. 


Sheridan's  parliamentary  career  was  long,  and  he  took 
an  important  part  in  much  of  the  business  of  the  country; 
but  he  never  struck  again  the  same  high  note  as  that 
with  which  he  electrified  the  House  on  the  question  of 
the  impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings.  His  speech  in 
answer  to  Lord  Mornington's  denunciation  of  the  revo- 
lution in  France,  perhaps  his  next  most  important  effort, 
was  eloquent  and  striking,  but  it  had  not  the  glow  and 
glitter  of  the  great  oration  under  which  the  Commons  of 
England  held  their  breath.  The  French  Revolution  by 
this  time  had  ceased  to  be  the  popular  and  splendid  out- 
burst of  freedom  which  it  had  at  first  appeared.  Opinions 
were  now  violently  divided.  The  recent  atrocities  in 
France  had  scared  England  ;  and  all  the  moving  subjects 
which  had  inspired  Sheridan  before,  the  pictures  of  inno- 
cence outraged  and  the  defenceless  slaughtered,  were  now 
in  the  hands  of  his  poUtical  opponents.  He  selected  skil- 
fully, however,  the  points  which  he  could  most  effectively 
turn  against  them,  and  seizing  upon  Lord  Mornington's 
description  of  the  sacrifices  by  which  French  patriotism 
was  compelled  to  prove  itself,  the  compulsory  loans  and 

N 


178  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

services,  the  privations  and  poverty  amid  which  the 
leaders  of  the  revolution  were  struggling,  drew  an  effective 
picture  of  the  very  different  state  of  affairs  in  England, 
which  throws  a  curious  light  upon  the  political  condition 
of  the  time.  Sheridan's  party  had  suffered  many  losses 
and  defections.  A  peer  in  those  days  or  a  wealthy 
landed  gentleman,  had  need  to  be  enlightened  and  strong- 
minded  indeed,  if  not  almost  fanatical  in  opinion,  to 
continue  cordially  on  the  side  of  those  who  were  con- 
fiscating and  murdering  his  equals  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Channel,  and  who  had  made  the  very  order  to  which 
he  belonged  an  offence  against  the  State.  The  Whig 
nobility  were  no  more  stoical  or  heroic  than  other  men, 
and  the  publication  of  Burke's  Befledions  and  his  impas- 
sioned testimony  against  the  uncontrollable  tendencies 
of  the  revolution  had  moved  them  profoundly  even  before 
the  course  of  events  proved  his  prophecies  true.  To 
make  the  conversion  of  these  important  adherents  more 
easy,  Pitt,  on  the  other  hand,  held  out  his  arms  to  them, 
and,  as  the  fashion  of  the  time  was,  posts  and  sinecures 
of  all  kinds  rained  upon  the  new  converts.  Sheridan, 
with  instinctive  perception  of  the  mode  of  attack  which 
suited  his  powers  best,  seized  upon  this  with  something 
of  the  same  fervour  as  that  with  which,  though  in  no 
way  particularly  interested  in  India,  he  had  seized  upon 
the  story  of  the  injured  Begums  and  cruel  English  con- 
querors in  the  East.  It  was  altogether  the  other  side  of 
the  argument,  yet  the  inspiration  of  the  orator  was  the 
same.  It  was  now  the  despoilers  who  were  his  clients  : 
but  their  work  of  destruction  had  not  been  to  their  own 
profit.  They  were  sufferers  not  gainers.  No  rich  posts  nor 
hidden  treasures  were  reserved  by  them  for  themselves, 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  179 

and  the  contrast  between  the  advantages  reaped  by  so 
many  Englishmen  arrayed  against  them,  and  the  sacrifices 
and  privations  of  the  French  patriots,  was  perfect. 
Sheridan  took  up  the  subject  with  all  the  greater  wealth 
and  energy  of  indignant  conviction  that  he  himself  had 
never  reaped  any  substantial  advantage  from  the  occa- 
sional elevation  of  his  own  part}^  He  had  carried  no 
spoils  with  him  out  of  office ;  he  had  not  made  hay  while 
the  sun  shone.  If  anybody  had  a  right  to  be  called  a 
disinterested  politician  he  had,  in  this  sense  at  least. 
His  interest  in  the  subjects  which  he  treated  might  be 
more  a  party  interest  than  any  real  devotion  to  the  cause 
of  freedom  and  humanity ;  but  -his  hands  were  clean  from 
bribe  or  pecuniary  inducement ;  and  his  fervour,  if  per- 
haps churned  uj)  a  little  by  party  motives,  was  never 
ungenerous.  The  indignant  bitterness  with  which  he 
and  the  small  party  who  adhered  to  Fox  regarded  the 
desertion  of  so  many  of  their  supporters,  gave  force  to 
the  reply  with  which  he  met  Lord  Mornington's  unlucky 
description  of  the  French  efforts.  On  no  other  point 
could  the  comparison  have  been  so  completely  in  favour 
of  the  revolutionary.  Sheridan  takes  the  account  of 
their  privations  triumphantly  out  of  the  hand  of  the 
narrator.  Far  different  indeed,  he  cries  scornfully,  is 
the  position  of  the  rival  statesmen  and  officials  in  Eng- 
land. He  can  imagine  the  address  made  to  them  "by 
our  prudent  minister  "  in  words  like  the  following,  words 
which  burn  and  sting  with  all  the  fire  of  satire — 

"  Do  I  demand  of  you  wealthy  citizens  (it  is  Pitt  who  is 
supposed  to  be  the  speaker)  to  lend  your  hoards  to  Govern- 
ment wdthoiit  interest  ?  On  the  contrary,  when  I  shall  come 
to  propose  a  loan,  there  is  not  a  man  of  you  to  whom  I  shall 


180  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

not  hold  out  at  least  a  job  in  every  part  of  the  subscription, 
and  a  usurious  profit  upon  every  pound  you  devote  to  the  neces- 
sities of  your  country.  Do  I  demand  of  you,  my  fellow-place- 
men and  brother-pensioners,  that  you  should  sacrifice  any  part 
of  your  stipends  to  the  public  exigency  ?  On  the  contrary, 
am  I  not  daily  insuring  your  emoluments,  and  your  numbers 
in  proportion  as  the  country  becomes  unable  to  provide  for 
you  ?  Do  I  require  of  you  my  latest  and  most  zealous  pro- 
selytes, of  you  who  have  come  over  to  me  for  the  special 
purpose  of  supporting  the  war,  a  war  on  the  success  of  which 
you  solemnly  protest  that  the  salvation  of  Britain  and  of  civil 
society  itself  depends, — do  I  require  of  you  that  you  should 
make  a  temporary  sacrifice  in  the  cause  of  human  nature  of 
the  greater  part  of  your  private  incomes  ?  No,  gentlemen,  I 
scorn  to  take  advantage  of  the  eagerness  of  your  zeal  ;  and  to 
prove  that  I  think  the  sincerity  of  your  attachment  to  me 
needs  no  such  test  I  will  make  your  interest  co-operate  with 
your  principle;  I  will  quarter  many  of  you  on  the  public 
supply  instead  of  calling  on  you  to  contribute  to  it,  and 
while  their  whole  thoughts  are  absorbed  in  patriotic  appre- 
hensions for  their  country,  I  will  dexterously  force  upon 
others  the  favourite  objects  of  the  vanity  or  ambition  of 
their  lives." 

Then  the  orator  turns  to  give  his  own  judgment  of 
the  state  of  affairs.  "Good  God,  sir,"  he  cries,  "that  he 
should  have  thought  it  prudent  to  have  forced  this  con- 
trast upon  our  attention,"  and  he  hurries  on  with  indig- 
nant eloquence  to  describe  the  representations  made  of 
"the  unprecedented  peril  of  the  country,"  the  constitution 
in  danger,  the  necessity  of  "  maintaining  the  war  by  every 
possible  sacrifice,"  and  that  the  people  should  not  murmur 
at  their  burdens,  seeing  that  their  all  was  at  stake — 

"  The  time  is  come  when  all  honest  and  disinterested  men 
should  rally  round  the  throne  as  round  a  standard — for  what? 
Ye  honest  and  disinterested  men  to  receive,  for  your  own 
private  emolument,  a  portion  of  those  very  taxes  which  they 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  181 

themselves  wring  from  tlie  people  on  the  pretence  of  saving 
them  from  the  poverty  and  distress  which  you  say  the  enemy 
would  inflict,  but  which  you  take  care  no  enemy  shall  be 
able  to  aggravate.  Oh,  shame  !  shame  !  is  this  a  time  for 
selfish  intrigues,  and  the  little  dirty  traffic  for  lucre  and 
emolument  ?  Does  it  suit  the  honour  of  a  gentleman  to  ask 
at  such  a  moment  ?  Does  it  become  the  honesty  of  a  min- 
ister to  grant  ?  Is  it  intended  to  confirm  the  pernicious 
doctrine,  so  industriously  propagated  by  many,  that  all  public 
men  are  impostors,  and  that  every  politician  has  his  price  ? 
Or  even  where  there  is  no  principle  in  the  bosom,  why  does 
not  prudence  hint  to  the  mercenary  and  the  vain  to  abstain 
a  while  at  least,  and  wait  the  fitting  of  the  times  ?  Improvi- 
dent impatience  !  Nay,  even  from  those  who  seem  to  have 
no  direct  object  of  ofiice  or  profit,  what  is  the  language 
which  the  actors  speak  ?  The  Throne  is  in  danger  !  -sve 
will  support  the  Throne  :  but  let  us  sliare  the  smiles  of 
royalty  ;  the  order  of  nobility  is  in  danger.  '  I  will  fight 
for  nobility,'  says  the  viscount,  '  but  my  zeal  would  be 
much  greater  if  I  were  made  an  earl.'  '  Rouse  all  the  marquis 
within  me,'  exclaims  the  earl,  '  and  the  peerage  never  turned 
forth  a  more  undaunted  champion  in  its  cause  than  I  shall 
prove.'  '  Stain  my  green  ribbon  blue,'  cries  out  the  illus- 
trious knight,  '  and  the  fountain  of  honour  will  have  a  fast 
and  faithful  servant.'  " 

This  scathing  blast  of  satire  must,  one  would  think, 
have  overwhelmed  the  Whig  deserters,  the  new  placemen 
and  sinecurists,  though  it  could  not  touch  the  impas- 
sioned soul  of  such  a  prophet  as  Burke,  whose  denuncia- 
tions and  anticipations  had  been  so  terribly  verified. 
The  reader  already  acquainted  with  the  life  of  Burke 
w'ill  remember  how,  early  in  the  controversy,  before 
France  had  stained  her  first  triumphs,  Sheridan  lost, 
on  account  of  his  continued  faith  in  the  Eevolution, 
the  friendship  of  his  great  countryman,  whose  fiery 
temper  was  unable  to  brook  so  great  a  divergence   of 


182  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

opinion ,  and  who  cut  him  sternly  off,  as  he  afterwards 
did  a  more  congenial  and  devoted  friend,  Fox,  by 
whom  the  breach  was  acknowledged  with  tears  in  a 
scene  as  moving  as  ever  was  enacted  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  Sheridan  did  not  feel  it  so  deeply, 
the  link  between  them  being  lighter,  and  the  posi- 
tion of  involuntary  rivalship  almost  inevitable.  And 
thousfh  it  cannot  be  believed  that  his  convictions  on 
the  subject  were  half  so  profound,  or  his  judgment  so 
trustworthy,  his  was  the  more  difficult  side  of  opinion, 
and  his  fidelity  to  the  cause,  which  politically  and  we 
may  even  say  conventionally,  was  that  of  freedom,  was 
unwavering.  The  speech  from  which  we  have  quoted 
could  not,  from  its  natui-e,  be  so  carefully  premeditated 
and  prepared,  as  Sheridan's  great  efforts  had  heretofore 
been ;  but  it  had  the  advantage  of  being  corrected  for 
the  press,  and  has  consequently  reached  us  in  a  fuller 
and  more  complete  form  than  any  other  of  Sheridan's 
speeches.  Professor  Smyth  gives  a  graphic  account  of 
his  sudden  appearance  at  Wanstead  along  with  the  editor 
of  the  paper  in  which  it  had  been  reported,  and  of  the 
laborious  diligence  with  which  he  devoted  himself  to  its 
revision,  during  several  days  of  unbroken  work.  But 
we  should  scarcely  have  known  our  Sheridan  had  not 
this  spasmodic  effort  been  balanced  by  an  instance  of 
characteristic  indolence  and  carelessness.  Lord  Morn- 
ington  in  his  speech  had  made  much  reference  to  a 
French  pamphlet  by  Brissot,  a  translation  of  which  had 
been  republished  in  London,  with  a  preface  by  Burke, 
and  largely  circulated.  Smyth  remarked  that  Sheridan 
accepted  Lord  M.'s  view  of  this  pamphlet,  and  his  quo- 
tations from  it.     "How  could  I  do  otherwise  1"  he  said. 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  183 

"  I  never  read  a  word  of  it."  Perhaps  it  was  not 
necessary.  The  careful  combination  of  facts  and  details 
was  not  in  Sheridan's  way ;  but  in  his  haphazard  daring 
a  certain  instinct  guided  him,  and  he  seized  unerringly 
the  thing  he  could  do,  the  point  of  the  position,  pic- 
turesque and  personal,  which  his  faculty  could  best 
assail. 

A  far  less  satisfactory  chapter  in  his  life  was  that 
already  referred  to,  which  linked  Sheridan's  fortunes 
with  those  of  the  Prince  Eegent,  and  made  him,  for 
a  long  time,  almost  the  representative  in  Parliament 
of  that  royal  personage.  When  the  first  illness  of 
the  King,  in  1789,  made  it  likely  that  power  must 
come  one  way  or  other  into  the  hands  of  the  heir- 
apparent,  there  was  much  excitement,  as  was  natural, 
among  the  party  with  which  the  name  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales  was  connected,  and  who,  as  appeared,  had 
everything  to  hope  from  his  accession,  actual  or  virtual. 
It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  our  purpose  to  trace  the  stormy 
party  discussions  on  the  subject  of  the  Eegency,  between 
the  extreme  claim  put  forth  by  Fox  of  the  right  of  the 
Prince  to  be  immediately  invested  with  all  the  powers  of 
royalty  as  his  father's  natural  deputy  and  representative, 
and  the  equally  extreme  counter-statement  of  Pitt,  dic- 
tated by  alarm  as  the  other  was  by  hope,  that  "  the 
Prince  of  Wales  had  no  more  right  to  exercise  the  powers 
of  government  than  any  other  person  in  the  realm." 
Sheridan's  share  in  the  debate  was  chiefly  signalised  by 
his  threat,  as  injudicious  as  the  original  assertion  of  his 
leader,  that  the  Prince  might  be  provoked  to  make  the 
claim  which  the  other  party  opposed  so  sti'enuously ; " 
"but  his  most  important   agency,"  says   Moore,    "lay 


184  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

in  the  less  public  business  connected  with"  the  ques- 
tion. He  was  in  high  favour  at  Carlton  House,  and 
the  chosen  adviser  of  the  Prince  :  and  although  Moore's 
researches  enabled  him  to  prove  that  the  most  im- 
portant document  in  the  whole  episode — the  Prince's 
letter  to  Pitt — was  the  production  not  of  Sheridan 
but  of  the  master-spirit  Burke,  Sheridan's  pen  was 
employed  in  various  papers  of  importance ;  and  though 
the  post  allotted  to  him  in  the  shortlived  new  ministry 
was  no  more  than  that  of  Treasurer  of  the  Navy, 
a  position  not  at  all  adequate  to  his  apparent  import- 
ance, he  was  in  reality  a  very  active  agent  behind  the 
scenes.  The  king's  speedy  recovery,  howeA^er,  at  this 
moment  was  fatal  to  Sheridan's  fortunes,  and  all  that 
came  of  this  momentary  gleam  of  advancement  to  his 
family  was  that  Charles  Sheridan  in  Ireland,  whose  post 
had  been  the  only  gain  of  his  brother's  former  taste  of 
power,  lost  it  in  consequence  of  the  new  re-revolution  of 
affairs,  though  he  carried  with  him  a  pension  of  .£1200  a 
year,  probably  a  very  good  substitute.  He  was  the  only 
one  profited  in  pocket  by  Sheridan's  political  elevation 
and  fame.  Once  more,  in  1806,  after  the  death  of  Pitt, 
Sheridan  followed  Fox  into  office  in  the  same  unimport- 
ant post  of  Treasurer  to  the  Navy.  But  Fortune  was 
not  on  his  side,  and  Fox's  death  in  a  few  months  with- 
drew him  for  ever  from  all  the  chances  of  power. 

It  seems  inconceivable  though  true  that  the  two  great 
orators  of  the  period,  the  men  whose  figures  stand  pro- 
minent in  every  discussion,  and  one  of  whom  at  least 
had  so  large  and  profound  an  influence  on  his  time, 
should,  when  their  party  rose  to  the  head  of  afl\iirs,  have 
been  so  unceremoniously  disposed  of.     Sheridan's  insig- 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  185 

nificant  post  might  be  accounted  for  by  his  known 
incapacity  for  continued  exertion  ;  but  to  read  the  name 
of  Burke  as  Paymaster  of  the  Forces,  fills  the  reader 
with  amazement.  They  were  both  self-made,  without 
family  or  connections  to  found  a  claim  upon,  but  the 
eminence,  especially  of  the  latter,  was  incontestable. 
Both  were  of  the  highest  importance  to  their  party, 
and  Sheridan  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  that  favour  of  the 
Prince  which  told  for  so  much  in  those  days.  And  yet 
this  w^as  the  best  that  their  claims  could  secure.  It  is 
a  somewhat  humiliating  proof  of  how  little  great  mental 
gifts,  reaching  the  height  of  genius  in  one  case,  can 
do  for  their  possessor.  Both  Burke  and  Sheridan  are 
favourite  instances  of  the  reverse  opinion.  It  is  a 
commonplace  to  quote  them  as  examples  of  the  manner 
in  which  a  man  of  genius  may  raise  himself  to  the 
highest  elevation.  And  yet  after  they  had  dazzled 
England  for  years,  one  of  them  the  highest  originating 
soul,  the  profoundest  thinker  of  his  class,  the  other  an 
unrivalled  instrument  at  least  in  the  hand  of  a  great  party 
leader,  this  was  all  they  could  attain  to  —  Edmund 
Burke,  Paymaster  of  the  Forces;  Brinsley  Sheridan, 
Treasurer  of  the  Navy.  It  is  a  curious  commentary 
upon  the  unbounded  applause  and  reputation  which  these 
two  men  enjoyed  in  their  day,  and  the  place  they  have 
taken  permanently  in  the  history  of  their  generation. 

Sheridan's  connection  with  the  Prince  lasted  for  many 
years.  He  appears  to  have  been  not  only  one  of  his 
favourite  companions,  but  for  some  time  at  legist  his 
most  confidential  adviser.  When  the  Prince  on  his 
marriage  put  forth  a  second  demand  for  the  payment  of 
his  debts,  after  the  distinct  promise  made  on  the  first 


186  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

occasion  that  no  such  claim  should  be  made  again,  it 
was  Sheridan  who  was  the  apologist,  if  apology  his 
explanation  can  be  called.  He  informed  the  House 
that  he  had  advised  the  Prince  to  make  no  such 
pledge,  but  that  it  was  inserted  without  the  knowledge 
of  either,  and  at  a  moment  when  it  was  impossible  to 
withdraw  from  it.  He  added  that  he  himself  had 
drawn  up  a  scheme  of  retrenchment  Avhich  would  have 
made  such  an  application  unnecessary,  that  he  had  put  a 
stop  to  a  loan  proposed  to  be  raised  for  the  Prince  in 
France  as  unconstitutional,  and  that  he  had  systematically 
counselled  an  abstinence  from  all  meddling  in  great  poli- 
tical questions.  Moore  characterises  this  explanation' as 
marked  by  "  a  communicativeness  that  seemed  hardly 
prudent,"  and  it  is  difficult  to  suppose  that  Sheridan's 
royal  patron  could  have  liked  it ;  but  he  did  not  disown 
it  in  any  way,  and  retained  the  speaker  in  his  closest 
confidence  for  many  years,  during  which  Sheridan's  time 
and  pen  and  ready  eloquence  were  always  at  his  master's 
service.  There  is  a  strange  mixture  throughout  his 
history  of  serviceableness  and  capacity  for  work,  with 
an  almost  incredible  carelessness  and  indolence,  of  which 
his  behaviour  at  this  period  affords  a  curious  example. 
He  would  seem  to  have  spared  no  trouble  in  the  Prince's 
service,  to  have  been  ready  at  his  call  at  all  times  and 
seasons,  conducting  the  most  important  negotiations  for 
him,  and  acting  as  the  means  of  communication  between 
him  and  the  leaders  of  his  party.  Perhaps  pride  and 
a  gratified  sense  of  knowing  the  mind  of  the  heir- 
apparent  better  than  any  one  else,  may  have  supplied 
the  place  of  true  energy  and  diligence  for  the  moment ; 
and  certainly  he  was  zealous  and  busy  in  his  patron's 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  187 

affairs,  disorderly  and  indifferent  as  he  was  in  his 
own.  And  though  his  power  and  influence  were  daily 
decreasing  in  Parliament,  his  attendance  becoming  more 
and  more  irregular,  and  his  interest  in  public  business 
capricious  and  fitful,  yet  there  were  still  occasions  on 
which  Sheridan  came  to  the  front  with  an  energy  and 
spirit  worthy  of  his  best  days.  One  of  these  was  at  the 
time  of  the  great  mutiny  at  the  Nore,  when  the  ministry 
was  embarrassed  on  all  hands,  the  opposition  violently 
factious,  and  every  appearance  alarming.  Sheridan  threw 
himself  into  the  midst  of  the  excitement  with  a  bold  and 
generous  support  of  the  Government  which  strengthened 
their  hands  in  the  emergency  and  did  much  to  restore 
tranquillity  and  confidence.  "  The  patriotic  promptitude 
of  his  interference,"  says  Moore,  "  was  even  more  strik- 
ing than  it  appears  in  the  record  of  his  Parliamentary 
labours."  By  this  time  Fox  had  withdrawn  from  the 
House,  and  no  other  of  the  Whig  leaders  showed  any- 
thing of  Sheridan's  energy  and  public  spirit.  At  a  still 
later  period,  in  the  course  of  a  discussion  on  the  army 
estimates,  he  was  complimented  by  Canning  as  "  a  man 
who  had  often  come  forward  in  times  of  public  embar- 
rassment as  the  champion  of  the  country's  rights  and 
interests,  and  had  rallied  the  hearts  and  spirits  of  the 
nation."  The  warmest  admirer  of  Sheridan  might  be 
content  to  let  such  words  as  these  stand  as  the  conclu- 
sion of  his  parliamentary  career. 

Thus  his  life  was  chequered  with  bursts  of  recovery, 
with  rapid  and  unexpected  manifestations  of  power. 
Now  and  then  he  would  rise  to  the  height  of  a  crisis,  and 
by  moments  display  a  faculty  prompt  and  eager  and  prac 
tical.     Sometimes,  on  a  special  occasion,  he  would  work 


188  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

hard,  "  till  the  motes  were  in  his  eyes."  There  must  have 
beon  in  him  some  germ  of  financial  genius  which  enabled 
him  without  any  capital  to  acquire  great  property,  and 
conduct  what  was  in  reality  a  large  commercial  speculation 
in  his  theatre  with  success  for  many  years.  All  these 
qualities  are  strangely  at  variance  with  the  background  of 
heedlessness,  indolence,  and  reckless  self-indulgence  which 
take  both  credit  and  purpose  out  of  his  life.  He  is  like 
two  men,  one  of  them  painfully  building  up  what  the 
other  every  day  delights  to  pull  down.  His  existence 
from  the  time  of  his  wife's  death  seems,  when  we  look 
back  upon  it,  like  a  headlong  rush  to  destruction ;  and 
yet  even  in  the  last  chapter  of  his  career  there  were  times 
when  he  would  turn  and  stand  and  present  a  manful  front 
to  fate.  Though  there  is  no  appearance  in  anything  he 
says  or  does  of  very  high  political  principles,  yet  he  held 
steadfastly  by  the  cause  of  reform,  and  for  the  freedom 
of  the  subject,  and  against  all  encroachments  of  power, 
as  long  as  he  lived.  He  was  on  the  side  of  Ireland  in 
the  troubles  then  as  always  existing,  though  of  a 
changed  complexion  from  those  we  are  familiar  with 
now.  He  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  persuaded 
out  of  his  faith  in  the  new  principle  of  freedom  in 
France,  either  by  the  excesses  which  disgraced  it,  or 
by  the  potent  arguments  of  his  friend  and  country- 
man. And  he  was  disinterested  and  faithful  in  his 
party  relations,  giving  up  office  almost  unnecessarily 
when  he  considered  that  his  political  allegiance  required 
it,  and  holding  fast  to  his  leader  even  when  there  was 
estrangement  between  them.  All  these  particulars  should 
be  remembered  to  Sheridan's  credit.  He  got  nothing 
for  his  political  services,  at  a  time  when  sinecures  were 


vj.]  DECADENCE.  189 

common,  and,  with  one  exception,  kept  his  political 
honour  stainless,  and  never  departed  from  his  standard. 
He  served  the  Prince  in  the  same  spirit  of  disinte- 
restedness— a  disinterestedness  so  excessive  that  it  looks 
like  recklessness  and  ostentatious  indifference  to  ordinary 
motives :  that  gratification  in  the  confidence  of  royalty, 
which  in  all  ages  has  moved  men  to  sacrifices  and  labours 
not  undertaken  willingly  in  any  other  cause,  seems  a 
poor  sort  of  inspiration  when  Royal  George  was  the 
object  of  it ;  but  in  this  case  it  was  like  master  like  man, 
and  the  boon  companion  whose  wit  enlivened  the  royal 
orgies  was  not  likely  perhaps  to  judge  his  Prince  by  any 
high  ideal.  He  had  never  received  from  his  royal  friend 
"so  much  as  the  present  of  a  horse  or  a  picture,"  until  in 
the  year  1804  the  appointment  of  Receiver  of  the  Duchy 
of  Cornwall  was  conferred  upon  him,  an  appointment 
which  he  announces  to  the  then  minister,  Mr.  Addington, 
with  lively  satisfaction  and  gratitude. 

"It  has  been  my  pride  and  pleasure,"  he  says,  "to  have 
exerted  my  humble  efforts  to  serve  the  Prince  without  ever 
accepting  the  slightest  obligation  from  him  ;  but  in  the  pre- 
sent case  and  under  the  present  circumstances  I  think  it 
would  have  been  really  false  pride  and  apparently  mischievous 
affectation  to  have  declined  this  mark  of  his  Royal  Highness's 
confidence  and  favour." 

It  was  no  great  return  for  so  many  services  ;  and  even 
this  was  not  at  first  a  satisfactory  gift,  since  it  had  been 
previously  bestowed  (hypothetically)  on  some  one  else, 
and  a  long  correspondence  and  many  representations  and 
explanations  seem  to  have  been  exchanged  before  Sheri- 
dan was  secure  in  his  post — the  only  profit  he  carried 
with  him  out  of  his  prolonged  and  brilliant  political  life. 


190  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

The  one  instance,  which  has  been  referred  to,  in 
which  his  political  loyalty  was  defective  occurred  very 
near  the  end  of  his  career.  Fox  was  dead,  to  whom, 
though  some  misunderstanding  had  clouded  their  later 
intercourse,  he  had  alwaj^s  been  faithful,  and  other  leaders 
had  succeeded  in  the  conduct  of  the  party,  leaders  with 
whom  Sheridan  had  less  friendship  and  sympathy,  and 
who  had  thwarted  him  in  his  wish  to  succeed  Fox  as  the 
representative  of  Westminster,  an  honour  on  which  he  had 
set  his  heart.  It  was  in  favour  of  a  young  nobleman  of  no 
account  in  the  political  world  that  the  man  who  had  so 
long  been  an  ornament  to  the  partj^,  and  had  in  his  day 
done  it  such  manful  service,  was  put  aside ;  and  Sheridan 
would  have  been  more  than  mortal  had  he  not  felt  it 
deeply.  The  opportunity  of  avenging  himself  occurred 
before  long.  When  the  Prince,  his  patron,  finally  came 
to  the  position  of  Eegent,  under  many  restrictions,  and 
with  an  almost  harsh  insistence  upon  the  fact  that  he 
held  the  office  not  by  right,  but  by  the  will  of  Parliament, 
Sheridan  had  one  moment  of  triumph — a  triumph  almost 
whimsical  in  its  completeness.  In  the  ordinary  course  of 
affairs  it  became  the  duty  of  the  Lords  Grey  and  Gran- 
ville, the  recognised  leaders  of  the  Whig  party,  which  up 
to  this  time  had  been  the  party  specially  attached  to  the 
Prince,  to  prepare  his  reply  to  the  address  presented  to 
him  by  the  Houses  of  Parliament :  but  the  document, 
when  submitted  to  him,  was  not  to  the  royal  taste. 
Sheridan,  in  the  meanwhile,  who  knew  all  the  thoughts 
of  his  patron  and  how  to  please  him,  had  prepared 
privately,  almost  accidentally,  according  to  his  own  ac- 
count, a  draft  of  another  reply,  which  the  Prince  adopted 
instead,  to  the  astonishment  and  indignant  dismay  of 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  191 

the  official  leaders,  who  could  scarcely  believe  in  the  pos- 
sibility of  such  an  interference.  Moore  enters  into  a 
lengthened  explanation  of  Sheridan's  motives  and  con- 
duct, supported  by  his  o^vn  letters  and  statements,  of 
which  there  are  so  many  that  it  is  very  apparent  he  was 
himself  conscious  of  much  necessity  for  explanation.  The 
great  Whig  Lords,  who  thus  found  themselves  superseded, 
made  an  indignant  remonstrance ;  but  the  mischief  was 
done.  In  the  point  of  view  of  party  allegiance,  the  pro- 
ceeding was  indefensible ;  and  yet  we  cannot  but  think 
the  reader  will  feel  a  certain  sympathy  with  Sheridan  in 
this  sudden  turning  of  the  tables  upon  the  men  who  had 
slighted  him  and  ignored  his  claims.  They  were  new 
men,  less  experienced  than  himself,  and  the  dangerous 
gratification  of  showing  that,  in  spite  of  all  they  might 
do,  he  had  still  the  power  to  forestal  and  defeat  them, 
must  have  been  a  very  strong  temptation.  But  such 
gratifications  are  of  a  fatal  kind.  Sheridan  himself,  even 
at  the  moment  of  enjoying  it,  must  have  been  aware  of 
the  perilous  step  he  was  taking.  And  it  is  another  proof 
of  the  curious  mixture  of  capacity  for  business  and  labour 
which  existed  in  him  along  with  the  most  reckless  indo- 
lence and  f  orgetf  ulness,  that  the  literature  of  this  incident 
is  so  abundant ;  and  that,  what  with  drafts  prepared  for 
the  Prince's  consideration,  and  letters  and  documents  of 
State  corrected  for  his  adoption,  and  all  the  explanatory 
addresses  on  his  own  account  which  Sheridan  thought 
necessary,  he  was  as  fully  employed  at  this  crisis  as  if  he 
had  been  a  Secretary  of  State. 

This  or  anything  like  it  he  was  not,  however,  fated  to 
be.  A  humbler  appointment,  that  of  Chief  Secretary 
under  the  Lord-Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  had  been  designed 


192  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

for  him  had  the  Whig  party,  as  they  anticipated,  come 
into  office ;  although,  after  the  mortification  to  which 
Sheridan  had  subjected  his  noble  chiefs,  even  such  an 
expedient  of  getting  honourably  rid  of  him  might  have 
been  more  than  their  magnanimity  was  equal  to.  But 
these  expectations  faded  as  soon  as  the  Regent  was  firmly 
established  in  his  place.  The  Prince,  as  is  well  known, 
pursued  the  course  common  to  heirs  on  their  accession, 
and  flung  over  the  party  of  Opposition  to  which  he  had 
previously  attached  himself.  The  Whigs  were  left  in 
the  lurch,  and  their  political  opponents  continued  in 
power.  That  Sheridan  had  a  considerable  share  in 
bringing  this  about  seems  evident :  but  in  punishing 
them  he  punished  also  himself.  If  he  could  not  serve 
under  them,  it  was  evidently  impossible  that  under  the 
other  party  he  could  with  any  regard  to  his  own  honour 
serve.  There  is  an  account  in  the  anonymous  biography 
to  which  reference  has  been  made,  of  an  attempt  on  the 
part  of  the  Prince  to  induce  Sheridan  to  follow  himself 
in  his  change  of  politics ;  but  this  has  an  apocryphal 
aspect,  as  the  report  of  a  private  conversation  between 
two  persons,  neither  very  likely  to  repeat  it,  always  has. 
It  is  added  that,  after  Sheridan's  refusal,  he  saw  no  more 
of  his  royal  patron.  Anyhow  it  would  seem  that  the 
intercourse  between  them  failed  after  this  point.  The 
brilliant  instrument  had  done  its  service,  and  was  no 
longer  wanted.  To  please  his  Prince,  and  perhaps  to 
avenge  himself,  he  had  broken  his  allegiance  to  his  party, 
and  henceforward  neither  they  whom  he  had  thus  de- 
serted, nor  he  for  whom  he  had  deserted  them,  had  any 
place  or  occasion  for  him.  He  continued  to  appear 
fitfully  in  his  place  in  Parliament  for  some  time  after, 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  193 

and  oue  of  his  latest  speeches  gives  expression  to  his 
views  on  the  subject  of  Catholic  Emancipation.  Sheri- 
dan's nationality  could  be  little  more  than  nominal,  yet 
his  interest  in  Irish  affairs  had  always  been  great,  and  he 
had  invariably  supported  the  cause  of  that  troubled 
country  in  all  emergencies.  In  this  speech,  which  was 
one  of  the  last  expressions  of  his  opinions  on  an  Irish 
subject,  he  maintains  that  the  good  treatment  of  the 
Catholics  was  "essential  to  the  safety  of  this  empire." 

"  I  will  never  give  my  vote  to  any  administration  that 
opposes  the  question  of  Catholic  Emancipation.  I  mil  not 
consent  to  receive  a  furlough  upon  that  particular  question, 
even  though  a  ministry  were  carrying  every  other  I  wished. 
In  fine,  I  think  the  situation  of  Ireland  a  permanent  con- 
sideration. If  they  were  to  be  the  last  words  I  should  ever 
utter  in  this  House,  I  should  say,  '  Be  just  to  Ireland  as  you 
value  your  own  honour  :  be  just  to  Ireland  as  you  value  your 
own  peace.' " 

In  this  point  at  least  he  showed  true  discernment, 
and  was  no  false  prophet. 

The  last  stroke  of  evil  fortune  had,  however,  fallen 
upon  Sheridan  several  years  before  the  conclusion  of 
his  parliamentary  life,  putting  what  was  in  reality 
the  finishing  touch  to  his  many  and  long -continued 
embarrassments.  One  evening  in  the  early  spring  in 
the  year  1809  a  sudden  blaze  illuminated  the  House 
of  Commons  in  the  midst  of  a  debate,  lighting  up  the 
assembly  ^vith  so  fiery  and  wild  a  light  that  the 
discussion  was  interrupted  in  alarm.  Sheridan  was 
present  in  his  place,  and  when  the  intimation  was  made 
that  the  blaze  came  from  Drury  Lane,  and  that  his  new 
theatre,  so  lately  opened  and  still  scarcely  completed, 


IM.  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap, 

was  the  fuel  which  fed  this  fire,  it  must  have  been  a  pale 
countenance  indeed  upon  which  that  fiery  illumination 
shone ;  but  he  had  never  failed  in  courage,  and  this  time 
the  thrill  of  desperation  must  have  moved  the  man 
whose  ruin  was  thus  accomplished.  When  some  scared 
member,  perhaps  with  a  tender  thought  for  the  orator 
who  had  once  in  that  place  stood  so  high,  proposed 
the  adjournment  of  the  House,  Sheridan,  with  the  proud 
calm  which  such  a  highly-strained  nature  is  capable  of 
in  great  emergencies,  was  the  first  to  oppose  the  impulse. 
"Whatever  might  be  the  extent  of  the  calamity,"  he 
said,  "he  hoped  it  would  not  interfere  with  the  public 
business  of  the  country."  He  left  his  brother  members 
to  debate  the  war  in  Spain,  while  he  went  forth  to 
witness  a  catastrophe  which  made  the  further  conduct  of 
any  struggle  in  his  own  person  an  impossibility.  Some 
time  later  he  was  found  seated  in  one  of  the  coff'ee-houses 
in  Covent  Garden  "swallowing  port  by  the  tumblerful," 
as  one  witness  says.  One  of  the  actors,  who  had  been 
looking  on  at  the  scene  of  destruction,  made  an  indignant 
and  astonished  outcry  at  sight  of  him,  when  Sheridan, 
looking  up  with  the  wild  gaiety  of  despair  and  that  melan- 
choly humour  which  so  often  lights  up  a  brave  man's 
ruin,  replied  :  "  Surely  a  man  may  be  allowed  to  take  a 
glass  of  wine  by  his  own  fireside."  The  blaze  which 
shone  upon  these  melancholy  potations  consumed  every- 
thing he  had  to  look  to  in  the  world.  He  was  still  full 
of  power  to  enjoy,  a  man  not  old  in  years,  and  of  the 
temperament  which  never  grows  old  :  but  he  must  have 
seen  everything  that  made  life  possible  flying  from  him 
in  those  thick  coiling  wreaths  of  smoke.  There  was 
still  his  parliamentary  life  and  his  Prince's  favour  to  fall 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  195 

back  upon,  but  probably  in  that  dark  hour  his  better 
judgment  showed  him  that  everything  was  lost. 

After  the  moment  of  disaster,  however,  Sheridan's 
buoyant  nature  and  that  keen  speculative  faculty  which 
would  seem  to  have  been  so  strong  in  him,  awoke  with 
all  the  fervour  of  the  rebound  from  despair,  as  he  began 
to  see  a  new  hope.  In  a  letter  addressed  to  Mr.  Whit- 
bread,  written  soon  after  the  fire,  and  with  the  high 
compliment  that  he  considered  Whitbread  "the  man 
living  in  my  estimation  the  most  disposed  and  the  most 
competent  to  bestow  a  portion  of  your  time  and  ability 
to  assist  the  call  of  friendship,"  he  thus  aj^peals  to  his 
kindness  : — 

"  You  said  some  time  since,  in  my  house,  but  in  a  careless 
conversation  only,  that  you  would  be  a  member  of  a  com- 
mittee for  rebuilding  Drury  Lane  Theatre  if  it  would  serve 
me  ;  and  indeed  you  very  kindly  suggested  yourself  that 
there  were  more  persons  to  assist  that  object  than  I  was 
aware  of.  I  most  thankfully  accept  the  offer  of  your  inter- 
ference, and  am  convinced  of  the  benefits  your  friendly  exer- 
tions are  competent  to  produce.  I  have  worked  the  whole 
subject  in  my  own  mind,  and  see  a  clear  way  to  retrieve  a 
great  property,  at  least  to  my  son  and  his  family,  if  my  plan 
meets  the  support  I  hope  it  will  appear  to  merit. 

"  Writing  this  to  you  in  the  sincerity  of  private  friendship 
and  the  reliance  I  place  on  my  opinion  of  your  character,  I 
need  not  ask  of  you,  though  eager  and  active  in  politics  as 
you  are,  not  to  be  severe  in  criticising  my  palpable  neglect 
of  all  Parliamentary  duty.  It  would  not  be  easy  to  explain 
to  you,  or  even  to  make  you  comprehend,  or  any  one  in 
prosperous  and  affluent  plight,  the  private  difficulties  I  have 
to  struggle  with.  My  mind  and  the  resolute  independence 
belonging  to  it  has  not  been  in  the  least  subdued  by  the  late 
calamity  ;  but  the  consequences  arising  from  it  have  more 
engaged  and  embarrassed  me  than  perhaps  I  have  been  willing 
to  allow.      It  has  been  a  principle  of  my  life,  persevered  in 


196  KICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

throiigli  great  difficulties,  never  to  borrow  money  of  a  private 
friend  :  and  this  resolution  I  would  starve  rather  than  \'iolate. 
When  I  ask  you  to  take  part  in  this  settlement  of  my  shattered 
affairs,  I  ask  you  only  to  do  so  after  a  previous  investigation 
of  every  part  of  the  past  circumstances  which  relate  to  the 
truth.  I  wish  you  to  accept  in  conjunction  with  those  who 
wish  to  serve  me,  and  to  whom  I  think  you  would  not 
object.  I  may  be  again  seized  with  an  illness  as  alarming 
as  that  I  lately  experienced.  Assist  me  in  relieving  my 
mind  from  the  greatest  affliction  that  such  a  situation  can 
again  produce — the  fear  of  others  suffering  by  my  death." 

Sheridan's  proposal  was  that  the  theatre  should  be 
rebuilt  by  subscription  by  a  committee  under  the  chair- 
manship of  Whitbread,  he  himself  and  his  son  receiving 
from  them  an  equivalent  in  money  for  their  share  of  the 
property  under  the  patent.  This  was  done  accordingly  : 
Sheridan's  share  amounted  to  £24,000,  while  his  son  got 
the  half  of  that  sum.  But  the  money  which  was  to 
take  the  place  of  the  income  which  Sheridan  had  so 
long  drawn  from  the  theatre,  was,  it  is  needless  to 
say,  utterly  inadequate;  and  was  engulfed  almost  im- 
mediately by  payments.  Indeed  the  force  of  circum- 
stances and  his  necessities  compelled  him  to  use  it  as  he 
might  have  used  a  sum  independent  of  his  regular  income 
which  had  fallen  into  his  hand.  Whitbread  was  not  to 
be  dealt  with  now  as  had  been  the  world  in  general  in 
Sheridan's  brighter  days.  "  He  was  perhaps,"  says  Moore, 
"  the  only  person  whom  Sheridan  had  ever  found  proof 
against  his  powers  of  persuasion;"  and  as  in  the  long 
labyrinth  of  engagements  which  Sheridan  no  more  ex- 
pected to  be  held  closely  to  than  he  would  himself  have 
held  to  a  bargain,  he  had  undertaken  to  wait  for  his 
money  until  the  theatre  was  rebuilt,  there  were  endless 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  197 

controversies  and  struggles  over  every  demand  he  made: 
and  they  were  many.  Sheridan  had  pledged  himself 
also  to  non-interference,  to  "have  no  concern  or  connec- 
tion of  any  kind  whatever  with  the  new  undertaking," 
with  as  little  idea  of  being  held  to  the  pledge  :  and  when 
his  criticisms  upon  the  plans,  and  attempts  to  alter  them, 
were  repulsed,  and  the  promises  he  had  made  recalled 
to  his  memory,  his  indignation  knew  no  bounds.  "  There 
cannot  exist  in  England,"  he  cries,  "an  individual  so 
presumptuous  or  so  void  of  common  sense  as  not  sin- 
cerely  to  solicit  the  aid  of  my  practical  experience  on 
this  occasion  even  were  I  not  in  justice  to  the  subscribers 
bound  to  offer  it."  In  short  it  is  evident  that  he  never 
had  faced  the  position  at  all,  but  expected  to  remain  to 
some  extent  at  the  head  of  affairs  as  of  old,  and  with  an 
inexhaustible  treasury  to  draw  upon,  although  he  had 
formally  renounced  all  claim  upon  either.  When  he 
wrote  indignantly  to  Whitbread  as  to  an  advance  of 
^2000  which  had  been  refused  to  him,  and  of  which 
he  declared  that  "  this  and  this  alone  lost  me  my  elec- 
tion" (to  Stafford,  whither  he  had  returned  after  his 
failure  at  Westminster),  Whitbread  replied  in  a  letter 
which  paints  the  condition  of  the  unfortunate  man  be- 
set by  creditors  with,  the  most  pitiful  distinctness. 

"  You  ^^^ll  recollect  the  £5000  pledged  to  Peter  Moore  to 
answer  demands  :  the  certificates  given  to  Giblet,  Ker,  Ire- 
monger,  Cross,  and  Hirdle,  five  each  at  your  request :  the 
engagements  given  to  Ettes  and  myself,  and  the  arrears  to  the 
Linley  family.  All  this  taken  into  consideration  will  leave 
a  large  balance  still  payable  to  you.  Still  there  are  npon 
that  balance  the  claims  upon  you  of  Shaw,  Taylor,  and  Grubb, 
for  all  of  which  you  have  off'ered  to  leave  the  whole  of  your 
compensation  in  my  hand  to  abide  the  issue  of  arbitration." 


198  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

Poor  Sheridan  !  he  had  meant  to  eat  his  cake  yet 
have  it,  as  is  so  common.  In  his  wonderful  life  of  shifts 
and  chances  he  had  managed  to  do  so  again  and  again. 
But  the  moment  had  come  when  it  was  no  more  practi- 
cable, and  neither  persuasion  nor  threats  nor  indignation 
could  move  the  stern  man  of  business  to  whom  he  had 
so  lately  appealed  as  the  man  of  all  others  most  likely 
to  help  and  succour.  He  was  so  deeply  wounded  by  the 
management  of  the  new  building  and  all  its  arrangements 
that  he  would  not  permit  his  wife  to  accept  the  box 
which  had  been  offered  for  her  use  by  the  committee, 
and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  could  be  persuaded  so 
much  as  to  enter  the  theatre  with  which  his  whole  life 
had  been  connected.  It  was  for  the  opening  of  this  new 
Drury  Lane  that  the  competition  of  Opening  Addresses 
was  called  for  by  the  new  proprietors,  which  has  been 
made  memorable  by  the  "Rejected  Addresses  "of  Horace 
and  James  Smith,  one  of  the  few  burlesques  which  have 
taken  a  prominent  place  in  literature.  It  was  a  tradesman- 
like idea  to  propose  such  a  competition  to  English  poets, 
and  the  reader  will  willingly  excuse  the  touch  of  bitterness 
in  Sheridan's  witty  description  of  the  Ode  contributed 
by  Whitbread  himself,  which,  like  most  of  the  addresses, 
"turned  chiefly  on  allusions  to  the  Phoenix."  "But 
Whitbread  made  more  of  the  bird  than  any  of  them," 
Sheridan  said;  "he  entered  into  particulars  and  described 
its  wings,  beak,  tail,  etc.:  in  short  it  was  a  poulterer's 
description." 

It  was  while  he  was  involved  in  these  painful  con- 
troversies and  struggles  that  Sheridan  lost  his  seat  in 
Parliament.  This  was  the  finishing  blow.  His  person, 
so  long  as  he  was  a  member  of  Parliament,  was  at  least 


vi.]  DECADENCE.  19» 

safe.  He  could  not  be  arrested  for  debt;  everything 
else  that  could  be  done  had  been  attempted,  but  this 
last  indignity  was  impossible.  Now,  however,  that 
safeguard  was  removed  :  and  for  this  among  other 
reasons  his  exclusion  from  Parliament  was  to  Sheridan 
the  end  of  all  things.  His  prestige  was  gone,  his  power 
over.  It  would  seem  to  be  certain  that  the  Prince 
of  Wales  ofifered  to  bring  him  in  for  a  government 
borough  :  but  Sheridan  had  not  fallen  so  low  as  that. 
Once  out  of  Parliament,  however,  the  old  lion  was  im- 
portant to  nobody.  He  could  neither  help  to  pass  a 
measure  nor  bring  his  eloquence  to  the  task  of  smothering 
one.  He  was  powerless  henceforward  in  State  intrigues, 
neither  good  to  veil  a  prince's  designs  nor  to  aid  a  party 
movement.  And  besides  he  was  a  poor  broken-down 
dissipated  old  man,  a  character  meriting  no  respect,  and 
for  whom  pity  itself  took  a  disdainful  tone.  He  had  not 
been  less  self-indulgent  when  the  world  vied  in  admira- 
tion and  applause  of  him  :  but  all  his  triumphs  had  now 
passed  away,  and  what  had  been  but  the  gay  excess  of  an 
exuberant  life  became  the  disgraceful  habit  of  a  broken 
man.  His  debts,  which  had  been  evaded  and  put  out  of 
sight  so  often,  sprang  up  around  him  no  more  to  be 
eluded.  Once  he  was  actually  arrested  and  imprisoned 
in  a  sponging-house  for  two  or  three  days,  a  misery  and 
shame  which  fairly  overcame  the  fortitude  of  the  worn- 
out  and  fallen  spirit.  "On  his  return  home,"  Moore 
tells  us  (some  arrangements  having  been  made  by  Whit- 
bread  for  his  release),  "  all  his  fortitude  forsook  him,  and 
he  burst  into  a  long  and  passionate  fit  of  weeping  at  the 
profanation,  as  he  termed  it,  which  his  person  had 
suffered."     Leigh  Hunt,  in  his  flashy  and  frothy  article. 


200  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

has  some  severe  remarks  upon  this  exhibition  of  feeling, 
but  few  people  will  wonder  at  it.  Sheridan  had  been 
proud  in  his  way,  he  had  carried  his  head  high.  His 
own  great  gifts  had  won  him  a  position  almost  un- 
paralleled ;  he  had  been  justified  over  and  over  again  in 
the  fond  faith  that  by  some  happy  chance,  some  half 
miraculous  effort,  his  fortunes  might  still  be  righted  and 
all  go  well.  Alas  !  all  this  was  over,  hope  and  possibility 
were  alike  gone.  Like  a  man  running  a  desperate  race, 
half  stupefied  in  the  rush  of  haste  and  weariness,  of 
trembling  limbs  and  panting  bosom,  whose  final  stumble 
overwhelms  him  with  the  passion  of  weakness,  here  was 
the  point  in  which  every  horror  culminated  and  every 
power  broke  down.  The  sanguine  foolish  bravery  of  the 
man  was  such  even  then,  that  next  moment  he  was 
calculating  upon  the  possibility  of  re-election  for  West- 
minster, a  seat  which  was  one  of  the  prizes  sought  by 
favourites  of  fortune ;  and,  writing  to  his  solicitor  after 
his  personal  possessions,  pictures,  books,  and  nicknacks 
had  been  sacrificed,  comforted  him  with  a  cheerful 
"  However,  we  shall  come  through  !  " 

Poor  Sheridan  !  the  heart  bleeds  to  contemplate  him 
in  all  his  desperate  shifts,  now  maudhn  in  tears,  now 
wild  in  foolish  gaiety  and  hope.  Prince  and  party  alike 
left  him  to  sink  or  swim  as  he  pleased.  When  it  was 
told  him  that  young  Byron,  the  new  hero  of  society,  had 
praised  him  as  the  writer  of  the  best  comedy,  the  best 
opera,  the  best  oration  of  his  time,  the  veteran  burst 
into  tears.  A  compliment  now  was  an  unwonted 
delight  to  one  who  had  received  the  plaudits  of  two 
generations,  and  who  had  moved  men's  minds  as  few 
besides  had  been  able  to  do.     A  little  band  of  friends. 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  201 

very  few  and  of  no  great  renown,  were  steadfast  to  him, 
Peter  Moore,  M.P.  for  Coventry,  Samuel  Rogers,  his 
physician  Dr.  Bain,  he  who  had  attended  the  deathbed  of 
Mrs.  Sheridan,  stood  by  him  faithfully  through  all ;  but  he 
passed  through  the  difficulties  of  his  later  years,  and  de- 
scended into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  deserted, 
but  for  them,  by  all  who  had  professed  friendship  for  him. 
Lord  Holland,  indeed,  is  said  to  have  visited  him  once, 
and  the  Duke  of  Kent  wrote  him  a  polite  regretful 
letter  when  he  announced  his  inability  to  attend  a 
meeting ;  but  not  even  an  inquiry  came  from  Carlton 
House,  and  all  the  statesmen  whom  he  had  offended,  and 
those  to  whom  he  had  long  been  so  faithful  a  colleague, 
deserted  him  unanimously.  When  the  troubles  of  his 
later  life  culminated  in  illness,  a  more  forlorn  being  did 
not  exist.  He  had  worn  out  his  excellent  constitution 
with  hard  living  and  continual  excesses.  Oceans  of 
potent  port  had  exhausted  his  digestive  organs;  he  had 
no  longer  either  the  elasticity  of  youth  to  endure,  or  its 
hopeful  prospects  to  bear  him  up.  He  was,  indeed,  still 
cheerful,  sanguine,  full  of  plans  and  new  ideas  for 
"getting  through,"  till  the  very  end.  But  this  had 
long  been  a  matter  beyond  hope.  His  last  days  were 
harassed  by  all  the  miseries  of  poverty  —  nay,  by 
what  is  worse,  the  miseries  of  indebtedness.  That  he 
should  starve  was  impossible  :  but  he  had  worse  to  bear, 
he  had  to  encounter  the  importunities  of  creditors 
whom  he  could  not  pay,  some  at  least  of  whom  were 
perhaps  as  much  to  be  pitied  as  himself.  He  was  not 
safe  night  nor  day  from  the  assaults  of  the  exasperated 
or  despairing.  "Writs  and  executions  came  in  rapid 
succession,  and  bailiffs  at  length  gained  possession  of  his 


202  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

house."  Thcat  house  was  denuded  of  everything  that 
would  sell  in  it,  and  the  chamber  in  which  he  lay  dying 
was  threatened,  and  in  one  instance  at  least  invaded 
by  sheriffs'  officers,  who  would  have  carried  him  off 
wrapped  in  his  blankets  had  not  Dr.  Bain  interfered,  and 
warned  them  that  his  life  was  at  stake.  One  evening 
Eogers,  on  returning  home  late  at  night,  found  a  de- 
spairing appeal  on  his  table.  "  I  find  things  settled  so 
that  £150  will  remove  all  difficulty;  I  am  absolutely 
undone  and  broken-hearted.  I  shall  negotiate  for  the 
plays  successfully  in  the  course  of  a  week,  when  all 
shall  be  returned.  They  are  going  to  put  the  carpets 
out  of  the  window  and  break  into  Mrs.  S.'s  room  and 
take  me.  For  God's  sake  let  me  see  you."  Moore  was 
with  Eogers  and  vouches  for  this  piteous  demand  on  his 
own  authority.  The  two  poets  turned  out  after  mid- 
night to  Sheridan's  house,  and  spoke  over  the  area  rails 
to  a  servant,  who  assured  them  that  all  was  safe  for  the 
night.  Miserable  crisis  so  often  repeated!  In  the 
morning  the  money  was  sent  by  the  hands  of  Moore, 
who  gives  this  last  description  of  the  unfortunate  and 
forsaken — 

"  I  found  Mr.  Sheridan  good-natured  and  cordial,  and 
though  he  was  then  within  a  few  weeks  of  his  death,  his 
voice  had  not  lost  its  fulness  or  strength,  nor  was  that  lustre 
for  which  his  eyes  were  so  remarkable  diminished.  He 
showed  too  his  usual  sanguineness  of  disposition  in  speaking 
of  the  price  he  expected  for  his  dramatic  works,  and  of  the 
certainty  he  felt  of  being  able  to  manage  all  his  affairs  if  his 
complaint  would  but  suffer  him  to  leave  his  bed." 

Moore  adds  with  natural  indignation,  that  during  the 
whole  of  his  lingering  illness,   "  it  does  not  appear  that 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  203 

any  one  of  his  noble  or  royal  friends  ever  called  at  his 
door,  or  even  sent  to  inquire  after  him." 

At  last  the  end  came.  When  the  Bishop  of  London, 
sent  for  by  Mrs.  Sheridan,  came  to  visit  the  dying  man, 
she  told  Mr.  Smyth  that  such  a  paleness  of  awe  came 
over  his  face  as  she  could  never  forget.  He  had  never 
taken  time  or  thought  for  the  unseen,  and  the  appear- 
ance of  the  priest,  like  a  forerunner  of  death  itself, 
stunned  and  startled  the  man,  whose  life  had  been 
occupied  with  far  other  subjects.  But  he  was  not  one 
to  avoid  any  of  the  decent  and  becoming  prehminaries 
that  custom  had  made  indispensable — nay,  there  was  so 
much  susceptibility  to  emotion  in  him,  that  no  doubt  he 
was  able  to  find  comfort  in  the  observances  of  a  death- 
bed, even  though  his  mind  was  little  accustomed  to  reli- 
gious thought  or  observance.  Nothing  more  squalid, 
more  miserable  and  painful,  than  the  state  of  his  house 
outside  of  the  sick  chamber  could  be.  When  Smyth  ar- 
rived in  loyal  friendship  and  pity  to  see  his  old  patron, 
he  found  the  desecrated  place  in  possession  of  bailiffs,  and 
everything  in  the  chill  disorder  which  such  a  miserable 
invasion  produces.  Poor  Mrs.  Sheridan,  meeting  him 
with  a  kind  of  sprightly  despair,  suggested  that  he 
must  want  food  after  his  journey.  "I  daresay  you 
think  there  is  nothing  to  be  had  in  such  a  house  ; 
but  we  are  not  so  bad  as  that,"  she  cried.  The 
shocked  and  sympathetic  visitor  had  little  heart  to 
eat,  as  may  be  supposed,  and  he  was  profoundly  moved 
by  the  description  of  that  pale  awe  with  which  Sheridan 
had  resigned  himself  to  the  immediate  prospect  of  death. 

In  the  meantime,  some  one  outside,  possibly  Moore 
himself,  though  he  does  not  say  so,  had  written  a  letter 


204  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

to  the  Morning  Post,  calling  attention  to  the  utter  deser- 
tion in  which  Sheridan  had  been  left. 

"Oh  delay  not,"  said 'the  writer,  without  naming  the 
person  to  whom  he  alluded  (we  quote  from  Moore),  "  delay- 
not  to  draw  aside  the  curtain  within  which  that  proud  spirit 
hides  its  sufferings."  He  then  adds,  with  a  striking  antici- 
pation of  what  afterwards  happened,  "  Prefer  ministering  in 
the  chamber  of  sickness  to  mustering  at 

"  The  splendid  sorrows  that  adoru  the  hearse. 

"  I  say  life  and  succour  against  Westminster  Abbey  and  a 
funeral.  This  article"  (Moore  continues)  "produced  a  strong 
and  general  impression,  and  was  reprinted  in  the  same  paper 
the  following  day." 

So  unusual  a  fact  proves  the  interest  which  Sheridan 
still  called  forth  in  the  public  mind.  It  had  so  much 
effect  that  various  high-sounding  names  were  heard  again 
at  Sheridan's  door  among  the  hangers-on  of  the  law 
and  the  disturbed  and  terrified  servants,  who  did  not 
know  when  an  attempt  might  be  made  upon  their  master's 
person,  dying  or  dead.  The  card  even  of  the  Duke  of 
York,  the  inquiries  of  peers  or  wealthy  commoners,  to 
whom  it  would  have  been  so  easy  to  conjure  all 
Sheridan's  assailants  away,  could  no  longer  help  or  harm 
him.  After  a  period  of  unconsciousness,  on  a  Sunday 
in  July,  in  the  height  of  summer  and  sunshine,  this 
great  ministrant  to  the  amusement  of  the  world,  this 
orator  who  had  swayed  them  with  his  breath,  died  like 
the  holder  of  a  besieged  castle,  safe  only  in  the  inmost 
citadel,  beset  with  eager  foes  all  ready  to  rush  in,  and 
faithful  servants  glad  that  he  should  hasten  out  of  the 
world  and  escape  the  last  indignity.  Among  the  many 
lessons  of  the  vicissitudes  of  life  with  which  we  are  al] 


v^i.]  DECADENCE.  206 

familiar,  there  never  was  any  more  effective.  It  is  like 
one  of  the  strained  effects  of  the  stage,  to  which  Sheri- 
dan's early  reputation  belonged;  and  like  a  curious 
repetition  of  his  early  and  sudden  fame,  or  rather 
like  the  scornful  commentary  upon  it  of  some  devilish 
cynic  permitted  for  the  moment  to  scoff  at  mankind, 
is  the  apotheosis  of  his  conclusion.  The  man  who 
was  hustled  into  his  coffin  to  escape  the  touch  which 
he  had  dreaded  so  much  in  life,  that  profanation  of 
his  person  which  had  moved  him  to  tears — and  hastily 
carried  forth  in  the  night  to  the  shelter  of  his  friend's 
house  that  he  might  not  be  arrested,  dead — was  no 
sooner  covered  with  the  funeral  pall  than  dukes  and 
princes  volunteered  to  bear  it.  Two  royal  highnesses, 
half  the  dukes  and  earls  and  barons  of  the  peerage, 
followed  him  in  the  guise  of  mourning  to  Westminster 
Abbey,  where  among  the  greatest  names  of  English 
literature,  in  the  most  solemn  and  splendid  shrine 
of  national  honour,  this  spendthrift  of  genius,  this 
prodigal  of  fame,  was  laid  for  the  first  time  in  all  his 
uneasy  being  to  secure  and  certain  rest.  He  had  been 
born  in  obscurity  —  he  died  in  misery.  Out  of  the 
humblest  unprovided  unendowed  poverty,  he  had  blazed 
into  reputation,  into  all  the  results  of  great  wealth,  if 
never  to  its  substance ;  more  wonderful  still,  he  had  risen 
to  public  importance  and  splendour,  and  his  name  can 
never  be  obliterated  from  the  page  of  history ;  but  had 
fallen  again,  down,  down,  into  desertion,  misery,  and  the 
deepest  degradation  of  a  poverty  for  which  there  was 
neither  hope  nor  help  :  till  death  wiped  out  all  possibilities 
of  further  trouble  or  embarrassment,  and  Sheridan  became 
once  more  in  his  coffin  the  great  man  whom  his  party 


206  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

delighted  to  honour — a  national  name  and  credit,  one  of 
those  whose  glory  illustrates  our  annals.  It  may  be 
permitted  now  to  doubt  whether  these  last  mournful 
honours  were  not  more  than  his  real  services  to  England 
deserved;  but  at  the  moment  it  was  no  doubt  a  fine 
thing  that  the  poor  hopeless  Sherry  whom  every- 
body admired  and  despised,  whom  no  one  but  a  few 
faithful  friends  would  risk  the  trouble  of  helping, 
who  had  sunk  away  out  of  all  knowledge  into  endless 
debts,  and  duns,  and  drink,  should  rise  in  an  instant  as 
soon  as  death  had  stilled  his  troubles  into  the  Eight 
Honourable,  brilliant,  and  splendid  Sheridan,  whose 
enchanter's  wand  the  stubborn  Pitt  had  bowed  under, 
and  the  noble  Burke  acknowledged  with  enthusiasm. 
It  was  a  fine  thing ;  but  the  finest  thing  was  that  death, 
which  in  England  makes  all  glory  possible,  and  which 
restores  to  the  troublesome  bankrupt,  the  unfortunate 
prodigal,  and  all  stray  sons  of  fame,  at  one  stroke, 
their  friends,  their  reputation,  and  the  abundant  tribute 
which  it  might  have  been  dangerous  to  aff'ord  them 
living,  but  with  which  it  is  both  safe  and  prudent  to  glorify 
their  tomb.  So  Scotland  did  to  Burns,  letting  him  suffer 
all  the  tortures  of  a  proud  spirit  for  want  of  a  ten-pound 
note,  but  sending  a  useless  train  of  local  gentry  to  attend 
him  to  his  grave — and  so  the  Whig  Peers  and  potentates 
did  to  Sheridan,  who  had  been  their  equal  and  com- 
panion. Such  things  repeat  themselves  in  the  history  of 
the  generations,  but  no  one  takes  the  lesson,  though  every 
one  comments  upon  it.  Men  of  letters  have  ceased,  to 
a  great  extent,  to  be  improvident  and  spendthrifts,  and 
seldom  require  to  be  picked  out  of  ruin  by  their 
friends  and  disciples  in  these  days ;  but  who  can  doubt 


VI.]  DECADENCE.  207 

that  were  there  another  Sheridan  amongst  us  his  fate 
would  be  the  same  1 

It  has  to  be  added,  however,  that  had  the  great 
people  who  did  nothing  for  him  stepped  in  to  relieve 
Sheridan  and  prolong  his  life,  nothing  is  more  prob- 
able than  that  the  process  would  have  had  to  be  repeated 
from  time  to  time,  as  was  done  for  Lamartine  in 
France,  since  men  do  not  learn  economy,  or  the  wise 
use  of  their  means,  after  a  long  life  of  reckless  pro- 
fusion. But  he  had  gained  nothing  by  his  political 
career,  in  which  most  of  the  politicians  of  the  time 
gained  so  much,  and  it  is  said  that  his  liabilities  came  to 
no  more  than  £4000,  for  which  sum  surely  it  was  not 
meet  to  suffer  such  a  man  to  be  hunted  to  his  grave  by 
clamorous  creditors,  hoAvever  just  their  claim  or  natural 
their  exasperation.  Somebody  said  in  natural  enthu- 
siasm, when  it  was  announced  that  the  author  of 
JVaverley  was  overwhelmed  with  debts,  "  Let  every  one 
to  whom  he  has  given  pleasure  give  him  sixpence,  and 
he  will  be  the  richest  man  in  Europe,"  Yes !  but  the 
saying  remained  a  very  pretty  piece  of  good  nature  and 
pleasing  appreciation,  no  one  attempting  to  carry  its 
suggestion  out.  Sir  Walter  would  have  accepted  no 
public  charity,  but  a  public  offering  on  such  a  grand 
scale,  had  it  ever  been  offered,  would  not  have  shamed 
the  proudest.  These  things  are  easy  to  say  ;  the  doing 
only  fails  in  our  practical  British  race  with  a  curious 
consistency.  It  is  well  that  every  man  should  learn  that 
his  own  exertions  are  his  only  trust ;  but  when  that  is 
said  it  is  not  all  that  there  should  be  to  say. 

"  Where  were  they  these  royal  and  noble  persons  "  (Moore 
cries  with  natural  fervour  of  indignation)  "  who  now  crowded 


208  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.  [chap. 

to  '  partake  the  yoke '  of  Sheridan's  glory  ;  where  were  they 
all  while  any  life  remained  in  him  ?  Where  were  they  all 
but  a  few  weeks  before  w^hen  their  interposition  might  have 
saved  his  heart  from  breaking  ?  or  when  the  zeal  now 
wasted  on  the  grave  might  have  soothed  and  comforted  the 
deathbed  ?  This  is  a  subject  on  which  it  is  difficult  to  speak 
with  patience.  If  the  man  was  unworthy  of  the  commonest 
offices  of  humanity  while  he  lived,  why  all  this  parade  of 
regret  and  homage  over  his  tomb  ? " 

And  he  adds  the  folloAving  verses  which  "appeared," 
he  says,  "  at  the  time,  and  however  intemperate  in  their 
satire  and  careless  in  their  style,  came  evidently  warm 
from  the  breast  of  the  writer  "  (himself) — 

"  Oh,  it  sickens  the  heart  to  see  bosoms  so  hollow, 

And  friendsliips  so  false  in  the  great  and  highborn  ; 
To  think  what  a  long  line  of  titles  may  follow, 
The  relics  of  him  who  died  friendless  and  lorn. 

"  How  proud  they  can  press  to  the  funeral  array. 

Of  him  whom  they  shunned  in  his  sickness  and  sorrow ; 
How  bailiffs  may  seize  his  last  blanket  to-day, 

Whose  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  nobles  to-morrow." 

When  all  these  details  which  move  the  heart  out  of 
the  composedness  of  criticism  are  put  aside,  we  scarcely 
feel  ourselves  in  a  position  to  echo  the  lavish  praises 
which  have  been  showered  upon  Sheridan.  He  was  no 
conscientious  workman  labouring  his  field,  but  an  abrupt 
and  hasty  wayfarer  snatching  at  the  golden  apples  where 
they  grew,  and  content  with  one  violent  abundance  of 
harvesting.  He  had  no  sooner  gained  the  highest  suc- 
cesses which  the  theatre  could  give  than  he  abandoned 
that  scene  of  triumph  for  a  greater  one ;  and  when — 
on  that  more  glorious  stage — he  had  produced  one  of  the 


VL]  DECADENCE.  209 

most  striking  sensations  known  to  English  political  life, 
his  interest  in  that  also  waned,  and  a  broken  occasional 
effort  now  and  then  only  served  to  show  what  he  might 
have  accomplished  had  it  been  continuous.  If  he  had 
been  free  of  the  vices  that  pulled  him  to  earth,  and  pos- 
sessed of  the  industry  and  persistency  which  were  not  in 
his  nature,  he  would,  with  scarcely  any  doubt,  have  left 
both  fortune  and  rank  to  his  descendants.  As  it  was  in 
everything  he  did,  he  but  scratched  the  soil.  Those  who 
believe  that  the  conditions  under  which  a  man  does  his 
work,  are  those  which  are  best  adapted  to  his  genius, 
will  comfort  themselves  that  there  was  nothing  beyond 
this  fertile  surface,  soon  exhausted  and  capable  of  but  one 
overflowing  crop  and  no  more,  and  there  is  a  complete- 
ness and  want  of  suggestion  in  his  literary  work  which 
favours  this  idea.  But  the  other  features  of  his  life  are 
equally  paradoxical  and  extraordinary ;  the  remarkable 
financial  operations  which  must  have  formed  the  found- 
ation of  his  career  were  combined  with  the  utmost 
practical  deficiency  in  the  same  sphere ;  and  his  faculty 
for  business,  for  negotiation,  explanation,  copious  letter- 
writing,  and  statement  of  opinion,  contrast  as  strangely 
with  the  absolute  indolence  which  seems  to  have  dis- 
tinguished his  life.  He  could  conjure  great  sums  of 
money  out  of  nothing,  out  of  vacancy,  to  buy  his  theatre, 
and  set  himself  up  in  a  lavish  and  prodigal  life ;  but  he 
could  not  keep  his  private  affairs  out  of  the  most  hopeless 
confusion.  He  could  arrange  the  terms  of  a  Regency 
and  outwit  a  party ;  but  he  could  not  read,  much  less 
reply  to,  the  letters  addressed  to  him,  or  keep  any  sort 
of  order  in  the  private  business  on  his  hands.  Finally, 
and  perhaps  most  extraordinary  of  all,  he  could  give  in 

P 


210  RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN.      [chap.  vi. 

the  Critic  the  deathblow  to  false  tragedy,  then  write  the 
bombast  of  Rolla,  and  prepare  Pizarro  for  the  stage. 
Through  all  these  contradictions  Sheridan  blazed  and 
exploded  from  side  to  side  in  a  reckless  yet  rigid  course, 
like  a  gigantic  and  splendid  piece  of  firework,  his  follies 
repeating  themselves,  his  inability  to  follow  up  success, 
and  careless  abandonment  of  one  way  after  another  that 
might  have  led  to  a  better  and  happier  fortune.  He  had 
a  fit  of  writing,  a  fit  of  oratory,  but  no  impulse  to  keep 
him  in  either  path  long  enough  to  make  anything  more 
than  the  dazzling  but  evanescent  triumph  of  a  day.  His 
harvest  was  like  a  southern  harvest,  over  early,  while  it 
was  yet  but  May ;  but  he  sowed  no  seed  for  a  second 
ingathering,  nor  was  there  any  growth  or  richness  left 
in  the  soon-exhausted  soil. 

Sheridan's  death  took  place  on  the  7th  July  1816, 
when  he  was  nearly  sixty-five,  after  more  than  thirty 
years  of  active  political  life.  His  boyish  reputation,  won 
before  this  began,  has  outlasted  all  that  high  place, 
extraordinary  opportunity,  and  not  less  extraordinary 
success,  could  do  for  his  name  and  fame. 


INDEX 


Addington,  Mr.,  189 
Affectation,  40 
Alchymist  (Jonson's),  139 
American  War,  131,  134 
Anglo-Irish  type,  the,  1-3 
"Angry  Boy,"  the,  139 
Aristcenetus,  17 
Auld  Robin  Gray,  36 
Austeu,  Jane,  53 

Bain,  Dr.,  201,  202 

Bath,  14,  18,  19,  27,  29,  35 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  100,  103 

Beggar's  Opera  (Gay's),  62,  66 

Betsey.     See  first  Mrs.  Sheridan 

Burgess,  Mr.,  142,  145 

Burke,  120,  126,  129,  131,   133, 

141-145,   147,   148,  150,   181, 

185,  206 
Burnham,  49 
Burney,  Dr.,  18 
Burney,  Fanny,  144 
Burns,  206 
Byron,  66,  200 

Canning,  49,  126,  187 
Canning,  Mrs.,  160,  161,  164 
Carlton  House,  169,  184,  201 
Catholic  Emancipation,  193 
Clarence,  Duke  of,  1 70 
Coalition,  the,  137 
Colman,  68 

Country  Wife  (Wycherley's),  62 
Coventry,  Lord,  47 


Cowper,  140 

Critic,  the,  15,  100-108  ;  its  fore- 
runners, 100  ;  its  satire  general, 
101 ;  cumbrous  machinery,  103  ; 
shows  Sheridan  at  the  height  of 
his  powers,  105  ;  circumstances 
of  its  production,  106-107  ;  its 
immediate  effect  on  the  drama, 
108 ;  charges  of  plagiarism,  111- 
112 

Crouch,  Mrs.,  the  actress,  162 

Cumberland,  the  poet,  101-102, 
103,  112 

Dalton,  Sir  W.,  143 

De  Genlis,  Mdme.,  163 

Devonshire,  Duchess  of,  128,  144 

Drury  Lane  Theatre,  Sheridan 
purchases  a  share  in,  68-76; 
his  bad  management,  108-114  ; 
its  prosperity  in  spite  of  this, 
165-166  ;  is  rebuilt,  168-169  ; 
is  destroyed  by  fire,  193-195  ; 
again  rebuilt,  195-197  ;  its  re- 
opening, and  the  Rejected  Ad- 
dresses, 198 

Duenna,  the,  62-67  ;  plot,  62-64  ; 
mediocre  wit,  64-65  ;  songs, 
62,  65  ;  Sheridan  and  the  music, 
66-67 

Dunkirk,  26 

Edgeworth,  Miss,  126 
Ewart,  Mr.,  32,  34,  70 


212 


RICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN. 


Fielding,  98,  100,  103 

Fitzgerald,  Lord  Edward,  163 

Fitzherbert,  Mrs.,  144 

Ford,  Dr.,  69,  70,  73,  106,  107 

Fordyce,  Lady  M.,  36 

Foresters,  the,  40 

Fox,  Charles,  99,   119,  120,  126, 

131-133,   136,   144,   150,   179, 

182,  184,  190 
French  Revolution,  177-182 

Garrick,  David,  6,  68-71,  75,  76, 

95-96,  112-116 
Garrick,  Monody  on,  115-116 
Glorious  First  of  June,  170 
Granville,  Lord,  145,  190 

Halhed,  Nathaniel,  15-19,  21 

Handel,  19 

Harris,  Llr.,  of  Covent  Garden, 
50,  59,  QQ 

Harrow,  6,  8,  10-13,  15 

Hastings,  Warren,  impeachment 
of,  140-148  ;  account  of  Sheri- 
dan's speech  in  parliament,  141- 
143  ;  trial  in  Westminster  Hall, 
144-146;  Sheridan's  second 
speech,  145-146 

Hawkins,  the  prompter,  78,  109 

Henderson,  the  actor,  109 

Hernans  Miscellany,  17 

Holland,  Lord,  201 

Howe,  Lord,  170 

Hunt,  Leigh,  Biographical  and 
Critical  Sketch  of  Sheridan,  vi, 
104,  199 

Ireland  forgeries,  the,  171 
Isaac,  Mr.,  46-47 
Isleworth,  163 

Jackson,  the  musician,  158 
Johnson,    Dr.,  7-9,   18,  47,   116, 

120,  123 
Jupiter,  15-17 

Kemble,  165.  166,  171 
Kent,  Duke  of,  201 
King,  the  actor,  107,  117,  1C5 
Kotzebue,  172 


Lacy,  Mr.,  73,  74,  77 
Lamartine,  207 
Lindsay,  Lady  Anne,  36,  37 
Linley,  Elizabeth.     See  first  Mrs. 

Sheridan 
Linley,  Marion,  162 
Linley,  the  composer,  18,  29,  46, 

62,  65,  67,  70,  73,   106,  107, 

110,  121,  173 
Literary  Club,  the,  120 
Long,  Mr.,  20,  49 

Macaulay,  Lord,  144 

Matthews,    Captain,    20,    22,   24, 

25,  28,  30,  31-33,  70 
Moliere,  61,  62,  98 
Moore,  Peter,  197,  201 
Moore,  Thomas,  Life  of  Sheridan, 

v,  36,  37,  42,  44,   70-71,   77, 

80,    84,    106,    121,    159,    186, 

187,  191,  196,  202 
Mornington,  Lord,  177,  179,  182 
Mutiny  at  the  Nore,  187 

North,  Lord,  47 
Norton,  Mrs.,  20,  note. 

Octogenarian,  Recollections  hy  an, 
vi.  169 

Ogle,  Dean,  175 

Ogle,  Miss.  See  second  Mrs.  Sheri- 
dan 

Orrery,  Lord,  3 

Oude,  Begums  of,  141,  145,  149, 
178 

Parr,  Dr.,  6,  10,  11,  12,  15,  154, 

171 
Phipps,  Mr.,  69 

Pitt,  138-139,  142,  172,  178,  179 
Pizarro,    105,    172  - 174  ;    Pitt's 

criticism,    172 ;    an    appeal   to 

the  gallery,  173  ;  the  fifth  act, 

174 
Polesden,  175 
Pope,  116 
Prince  Regent.     See  Wales,  Prince 

of     . 


INDEX. 


213 


Rejected  Addresses  (Smith),  198 
Rivals,  the,  50-60  ;  first  night  un- 
successful,    51  ;     how    it    Wcas 
*'  cut,"  59-60  ;  Sheridan's  Bath 
compared  with  Jane  Austen's,  I 
53  ;  plot  and  characters,  53-57  ;  ! 
a  comedy    dear   to  actors,   58  ;  ! 
the  preface,  59 
Rockingham,  Marquis  of,  137 
Rockingham  Ministry,  135-137 
Rogers,  Samuel,  99,  201,  202 
"Royal  Sanctuary,"  the,  122 

*S'^.  Patrick's  Day ;  or,  the  Scheming 
Lieutenant,  60-61,  62 

St.  Quentin,  25 

Savage,  123 

School  for  Scandal,  77-100  ;  cir- 
cumstances of  its  production, 
77-79  ;  its  inception,  two  dis- 
tinct stories,  80-81  ;  original 
motif,  81  ;  first  and  second 
versions,  80-85  ;  the  two  plays 
amalgamated  into  one,  86  ; 
looseness  of  construction,  87, 
93-94  ;  management  of  details, 
88-89  ;  the  screen  scene,  89-91  ; 
the  picture  sale,  91-93  ;  its 
authorship  questioned,  96-97, 
110  ;  charges  of  plagiarism,  97- 
99,  111-112 

Scott,  Sir  W.,  128,  207 

Shakespeare,  57,  95,  103,  127,  171 

Shelburne,  Lord,  137,  138 

Sheridan  and  his  Times,  42,  71 

Sheridan,  Charles  (brother),  7,  21, 
27,  30,  34,  135,  136,  137,  154, 
184 

Sheridan,  Miss  (sister),  13,  22,  24, 
25,  27,  28 

Sheridan,  Mrs.  (mother),  6-7,  10- 
11,  67 

Sheridan,  Mrs.  (first  wife),  19-29, 
34,  35,  42,  43-47,  52,  67,  146- 
147,  154-162 

Sheridan,  Mrs.  (second  wife),  174, 
175,  203 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  bio- 
graphies of,  V,  6  ;  birth,  1  ;  his 


father,  5-10  ;  his  mother,  6-7  ; 
school-days,  7,  10-13  ;  appear- 
ance, 14,  144  ;  early  idleness, 
14  ;  early  dramatic  efforts,  15- 
17  ;  early  verse,  23-24,  35-37, 
41-42,  48-49  ;  goes  to  Bath, 
14  ;  intimacy  with  Miss  Linley, 
18-20,  22-23  ;  elopes  with  her 
to  France,  25-27  ;  marriage  at 
Calais,  26,  29,  42,  43  ;  two  duels 
with  Captain  Matthews,  32-34  ; 
does  not  allow  his  wife  to  sing, 
46-47  ;  settles  in  London,  49  ; 
production  of  the  Rivals,  51  ; 
purchases  Garrick's  share  in 
Drury  Lane  Theatre,  68-76  ; 
buys  out  Lacy,  74  ;  the  School 
for  Scandal,  77-100 ;  the  Critic, 
100-108  ;  his  mismanagement 
of  Drury  Lane,  108-114  ;  trans- 
fers the  management  to  King, 
117  ;  public  life,  becomes  ac- 
quainted with  Windham,  Towus- 
hend,  and  Burke,  1 19-120  ;  early 
political  writings,  121-126  ; 
paperon  Absenteeism  in  Ireland, 
124-126  ;  his  opinion  of  Shake- 
speare, 127  ;  extravagance  of 
living,  127-128  ;  Burke  and 
Sheridan,  129  ;  the  Mercutio  of 
public  life,  129  ;  enters  parlia- 
ment, 130  ;  his  early  speeches 
fall  flat,  130-131  ;  political  sur- 
roundings, 134-135  ;  becomes 
under  secretary  of  state,  135  ; 
fall  of  Rockingham  Ministry, 
137  ;  Sheridan  becomes  secretary 
to  the  Treasury,  137  ;  attacked 
by  Pitt,  138  ;  the  "  Angry  Boy," 
139  ;  impeachment  of  Warren 
Hastings,  140-148  ;  account  of 
Sheridan's  speeches,  141-143, 
145-146  ;  preparation  of  the 
postscriptal  speech,  150  ;  loses 
his  father,  154  ;  death  of  his 
wife,  161-162  ;  and  of  his 
daughter,  164  ;  unopened  letters, 
167-168;  presented  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  169  ;  orgies  at  Carlton 


214 


EICHARD  BRINSLEY  SHERIDAN. 


House,  169-170  ;  Pizarro,  172- 
174  ;  second  marriage,  174-176  ; 
speech  on  French  affairs,  177- 
182  ;  rupture  with  Burke,  181- 
182  ;  subservience  to  the  Prince 
Regent,  183-186  ;  becomes 
treasurer  to  the  Navy,  184  ;  dis- 
loyalty to  his  party,  190-191  ; 
burning  of  Drury  Lane,  193-194  ; 
embarrassments  caused  by  its 
rebuilding,  195-197  ;  loses  his 
seat  in  parliament,  198  ;  over- 
Avhelmed  by  debt,  201-202  ; 
death,  204,  210 
Sheridan,  Thomas  (father),  5-10, 
13,  26,  35,  51,  67,  73,  110,  117, 


Thomas    (grandfather), 


154 
Sheridan 

2-5 
Sheridan,    Tom    (son),    159,    160, 

167,  175-176 
Sheridaniana,  v,  106 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer  (Goldsmith), 

55 
Siddons,  Mrs.,  165,  172,  174 
Smyth,  Professor,  v,  150-151,  159, 

163,  166,  167,  176,  182,  203 


Stafford,  130,  135,  197 

Stprace,  Mr.,  46,  47,  49 

Sumner,  Dr.,  13,  17 

Swift,  Dean,  3-6 

Sydney  Gardens  grotto,  23-24,  35 

Tartuffe,  89,  90 
Tickell,  the  poet,  58,  120 
Tickell,  Mrs,  156,  157 
Townshend,  Lord  J.,  119-120 
Trip  to  Scarborough,  75 

Vanbrugh,  75 
Versailles,  Treaty  of,  138 
Vortigern,  Ireland's,  171 

Wales,  Prince  of,  169,  170,  183- 

186,  189,  199 
Waltham  Abbey,  35,  37 
Wanstead,  164,  182 
Watkins,    Memoir    of   Sheridan, 

V,  96 
Whitbread,  Mr.,  195-199 
Whvte,  Mr.,  7 
Windham,  W.,  119 
Woodfall,  the  reporter,  130 


THE    END. 


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